Spud media

Spud Underground was originally just a double entendre regarding the place where tubers grow, but as the magazine developed the term “underground” became more applicable. Fervent support and furious anger seem to come our way in roughly equal proportions. We’ve had trouble distributing, with some shop owners admitting that they like the zine but don’t want to be professionally associated with it. And that’s fair. This wasn’t necessarily on purpose, but if everybody loved the zine we wouldn’t be Spud UNDERGROUND, now would we?

The flack is understandable, even amusing, and it has changed my understanding of the term. “Underground” is a metaphor for something clandestine, hidden or secretive. The way we use it today attempts to carry the mystical, rebellious importance of the Underground Railroad or underground newspapers in Nazi Germany, even though the threat of persecution is completely gone. “Underground” and “Independent” can be used interchangeably, but we prefer the edge of “underground.” We wear it as a stylish fashion accessory to show how downtrodden we are under the status quo’s boot.

Spoiled rich kids, the toxic by-products of the status quo, make believe that they have something to fight back against. They call themselves the underground while playing highly publicized festivals. They pretend to “fight the power” by spewing the same messages that you hear from news anchors, politicians, and commercials. They think they’re so dangerous when they demand more safe spaces. They call themselves anti-capitalist while corporations line up to donate to the cause. Sorry, but if your message of rebellion is advertiser-friendly, then you are not the underground.

Somewhere in the shadows lie the real dissenters. You hate them. You refuse to hear their message because it challenges the comfortable lie that you live in, beneath the establishment’s cozy wings. The mother hen knows you’d never sacrifice her warmth and protection, and sicks you on people who say the wrong things. You aren’t the rebellion, you’re a pawn.

In the 40’s, dissenters hid under cover of the underground. In the 60’s, social critics were cast into the counter-culture. In the 80’s and 90’s, renegades were silenced under the guise of political correctness. Today’s name for the same censorial process is “cancel culture.” Being canceled means that you aren’t allowed to frolic in the playpen of sanctioned rebellion anymore. It’s the new Mark of Cain, a fate worse than death to those who care what people think. Those who don’t care wear the Mark with pride. They tempt the Mark, because it’s all a big joke to them. As it should be.

Peer into the true underground and you’ll see comedians. People who dared make fun of your fragile way of life. People who took pleasure in the things you take seriously. That’s what I’ve always thought rock n’ roll was supposed to be about, which is why that’s what this magazine is all about. For one whole year, we’ve been celebrating debauchery and chastising sanctimony. We don’t plan on stopping any time soon. If that means going more underground than we already are, then hand me a shovel. I’m not worried, because more people are growing tired of walking on eggshells all the time just to maintain a standing in this retarded society.

So, to all of our fans and haters alike, here’s to another year of Spud Underground! Stay dangerous, my friends,

-RJ