BE: When did you begin being the chief editor at Ludd’s Mill? Did you distribute to several countries? I caught wind of it in Germany and it seems you had U.S connections with Rick Peabody and others.
AD: Indie publishing was the internet of its time, geography was seldom an issue. As a counterculture it always seemed to me to be a single nation of like-minded beings, and there was a driving kinship with activists wherever they happened to be, California, Australia, Germany or India. The way I was first drawn in, I was a socially dysfunctional messed-up kid with high but unfocused creative aspirations, when I discovered a copy of a magazine called Sad Traffic in what we quaintly referred to as a ‘Head Shop’ in the Leeds Hyde Park area, it turned my head around. I sent them a poem, my first and only poem, and they published it! From there I was able to link into the entire interconnected web of DIY publishing. As a result, my motivation was always to act as that same catalyst for some other socially dysfunctional messed-up kid, to shove Ludd’s Mill in unlikely news agents, gigs and festivals, places where it could be picked up by people outside the same self-referential arty bubble. And also to reach out to other similar projects wherever they happened to be. It was a great and wonderful time. As a result we had a regular influx of American and Australian poets calling off, crashing overnight with us, as well as British poets hitchhiking up and down Britain to gigs and readings.
BE: Was it mainly a poetry publication? What else did it publish? What was the main goal for the publication?
AD: Ludd’s Mill started out as a local ‘collective’ venture in Huddersfield around the tail-end of 1970. Steve Sneyd had some previous experience of Indie-publishing with a magazine called Riding West, so he maybe had a more hands-on attitude than most. I was not involved with the first issue. By then Sad Traffic had evolved into a tabloid underground newspaper called Styng, and I’d go around there to help out, and take advantage of the opportunity to read my way through the vast mound of trade-exchange and review magazines that were sent in from around the world. It was there I discovered Ludd’s Mill, made contact, and joined the group, which also promoted a series of live poetry-cabaret events called ‘The Inner Circle’ in Huddersfield which is where I got to do my first readings. As is the way with such co-operative ventures, what begins with wild participatory enthusiasm, swiftly loses cohesion, people drop off. There’s an incredibly shrinking collective! For one editorial meeting in Steve’s kitchen it was down to three of us. Then it was Steve and me, and we shoved through to around issue no.12 (January 1977) together. I was doing a lot of artwork and lay-out, he sorted out the more tedious tasks of dealing with printers and balancing finances. He’d give me a poem to illustrate and I’d go crazy and splurge over the entire A4 page, which he then had to integrate into the magazine and also into the tight budgetary restrictions. It was odd the way it subsequently shifted. I swear this is my memory of it.
Andy Robson (of Krax magazine) said to me ‘Steve tells me you’re taking over Ludd’s Mill. I said, ‘no, I’m not taking over Ludd’s Mill.’ Then George Cairncross (of Bogg) said to me ‘Steve tells me you’re taking over Ludd’s Mill.’ And I said, ‘no, I’m not taking over Ludd’s Mill.’ And this continued. Steve never asked, or even told me direct. But the truth of it just kind-of seeped in that yes, this was actually going to happen. I simply accepted the inevitability of it. Ludd’s Mill no.14 (January 1978) was my first solo issue. From the start I loved the trashy energy of Punk fanzines, the visual psychedelic opulence of the Hippie press, all the way back to the deliberate iconoclasm of Dada and surrealist publications, and I wanted that. I got stuff from Anarcho-Punk group Poison Girls. I got new work from Mike Butterworth and Barrington J Bayley of New Wave SF magazine New Worlds. I ran stuff about Timothy Leary, William Burroughs, MJ Harrison. I reasoned there was a certain recognition factor to putting Patti Smith or Allen Ginsberg there, as well as John Cooper Clarke. I adopted slogans ‘The Eloquent Argument For Dayglo Living’ or ‘The Danceable Solution To Teenage Revolution’ – ‘Buy Now: While Shops Last’ as playful taglines. I also expanded the review section to include the phenomena of Indie records, which in some ways was incidental in the magazine’s demise. An electronic trio from Sheffield not only sent me their self-produced records but took out a full-page ad. I met them, saw them play live, interviewed them… and shortly afterwards they were no.1 in the album chart as ABC with Lexicon Of Love. As a result, my music journalism and my fiction sales were taking off. I never intended Ludd’s Mill to end. The final issues had print-runs of 1,000. Everyone exaggerates. I sent out freebies for trade, I gave a bunch of issues away. But the print-run was 1,000. I was always planning the ‘next issue’. It just never happened.
BE: Why was the name Ludd’s Mill chosen? Was it a physical location or something metaphorical?
AD: To declare an interest, I never much liked the name Ludd’s Mill. The way Steve told the story to me, they were sitting around the pub table brainstorming ideas for the proposed magazine’s title, while Steve, as note-taker was scribbling them down on a confused beermat. Someone suggested Thud, someone else said The Mill, which got misinterpreted and fused, when he was translating his notes into Ludd’s Mill. The area around Huddersfield had seen many incidents of Luddite insurrection and targeted outrage against industrialisation, and whereas I quite enjoy the idea of proletarian direct action against dehumanizing capitalism, I’m also quite open and accepting of new technology. So when I was later invited to explain the title, I suggested a barrage of playful alternatives such as Ludicrous Millinery.
BE: Who were some of the well-known poets you published in Great Britain and the U.S.? What do you feel were your greatest accomplishments with Ludd’s Mill?
AD: If I saw a poem that excited me in another magazine, I wanted it, and used it – sending a copy of the issue to the writer concerned. I craved things that excited me, alongside a regular roster of my favourite poets that I wanted to promote and I felt deserved wider recognition, Dave Ward in Liverpool, the lovely Tina Fulker, Pete Faulkner, Dave Cunliffe. I got poems from Mike Scott before he was in the Waterboys. I solicited and got original work from Tuli Kupferberg of the Fugs. I published the first piece by Simon Clark who went on to become a popular writer of Horror fiction. We did a special Kerouac issue. But I always felt that things worked most effectively not as individual titles, but as part of a ‘scene’. What I was doing was synchronized to what Dave Cunliffe was doing with Global Tapestry, to what you were doing with Gypsy or Richard Peabody was with Gargoyle, with Krax, Bogg, Smoke, Tears In The Fence and all the rest. It was a coordinated fightback against the grinding dullness and tedium of all those social conventions and repression. I was happy and grateful to be a part of that great churning amorphous creativity.
BE: Seems like many of us who edited/published in the 80s are still committed to and doing the same thing now but via the internet. Tell us about 8 Miles higher, when you started it, why, and does it continue to this day?
AD: A musician has got to play music. An artist has got to paint artwork. If you’re some kind of writer, you write. It’s just what you do. So some pieces on Eight Miles Higher are new. But most of the stuff I put there is the final revision of old magazine pieces that got butchered for one reason or another in the first place. Editors have frustrating word-limits and tend to chop out text to create space for adverts. I like the immediacy and direct access of the internet. I used to work on the theory that some of those 1970s poetry/arts magazines only printed up 250-copies, many of them less than that. Half the people who got copies only read their own poems, or those by their friends. Only half of the others would eventually get around to reading your poem, and half of those that got to read it wouldn’t like it. So now, when I stick something on a Blog post and it hits 1,000 visits, I guess that’s a pretty strong ratio. We are still a continuity united by a diversity of the same aspirations, we simply use and abuse different technologies. These ideas persist.
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| Andrew Darlington and Steve Sneyd |
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