Signage for the Vaughan Oliver Memorial lecture at the Glasshouse (formerly the Sage Gateshead) on September 14, 2023.

The Vaughan Oliver Memorial Lecture at Newcastle

The phrase “fucked-up and photocopied” is often used to describe the aesthetic of punk graphics. Imagine visuals that have been chopped, warped, repeated, inverted, and so on, until the meaning becomes distorted and new. While the work of the late designer Vaughan Oliver grew in increasing complexity over the course of his long career, it always retained a certain roughness and the spark, the grit of the imperfect. That fucked-up-ness, if you will. As he himself said of his work with the Pixies (perhaps the band that he will be most associated with, despite working with a broad spectrum of musicians, artists and clients): “You imagine designing sleeves for your own record collection. The David Lynchian moods in there, the black humor, the surrealism — there’s such natural inspiration for me.”

1) Vaughan Oliver as a young man. 2) 4AD PMT experiment 3) Vaughan and Bruce Gilbert (Wire) at the ICA, 1993. 4) Vaughan and a skirt of eels for Pod.
1) Vaughan Oliver as a young man. 2) 4AD PMT experiment
3) Vaughan + Bruce Gilbert (Wire) at the ICA, 1993. (Photo by me)
4) Vaughan and a skirt of eels.

Natural? Or unnatural? Either way, Vaughan never looked to the usual sources to draw inspiration. (And his weapon was often the now-obsolete PMT camera, a crucial ally in making beautiful accidents with type and texture.) “I would take something from Vaughan’s experience and his body of work and think about what happens when you step away from the computer and when you use your hands,” Vaughan’s peer, Adrian Shaughnessy, has noted. “Vaughan certainly advocated the use of hands in his teaching. And I suspect, deep down, he actually regretted the computerization of graphic design. Keep in mind that a lot of the best work was done manually.”

Shaughnessy was just one of the speakers reflecting on the work and legacy of Vaughan Oliver at the Glasshouse (formerly the Sage Gateshead) in Newcastle, UK, on September 14. Vaughan’s v23 colleagues, Chris Bigg and Timothy O’Donnell, also delved deep into their memories of their close-knit, challenging and fruitful collaboration at 4AD, where Vaughan served as the in-house designer for 20 years. The audience represented a wide swath of musicians, designers and photographers whose careers and working methods were forever warped, thanks to their work with the formidable V.O. Attendees included Miki Berenyi from Lush, Anja Huwe and Manuela Zwingman from Xmal Deutschland, artist Russell Mills, photographers Dominic Davies and Kevin Westenberg, Glen Johnson from Piano Magic, and Vaughan’s family, to name but a few. (The lecture also marked the inauguration of the Vaughan Oliver Graphic Design Scholarships, a 10-year initiative supported by 4AD to provide opportunities for talented students to study design at Vaughan’s alma mater, Northumbria University.)

Rema-Rema group photo by Paul Stahl, 1979.

Visualising Rema-Rema

Rema-Rema group photo by Paul Stahl, 1979.
Rema-Rema in front of Royal Albert Hall, 1979. Photo by Paul Stahl. Left-right: Mark Cox, Mick Allen, Gary Asquith, Marco Pirroni, Max.

Until 2019, the sole recorded evidence of the short-lived London quintet Rema-Rema was a 4-song, 12” EP released by iconic label 4AD. (BAD 5, for those taking notes.) Wrapped in a striking George Rodger photo of Korongo Nuba tribesmen, Wheel in the Roses grabs you by the lapels with “Feedback Song,” which opens with a chorus of voices (no instruments) chanting the band’s name — this is the band as a gang, with a signature schoolyard chant.* At 30 seconds, the voices drop out, and a lone bass note booms out, setting an insistent rhythm met 45 seconds later by a skeletal drum pattern filling in the wide-open space. A clarion-call synth snakes through, then ringing feedback. The feral vocals return at the 3-minute mark, sailing over the grinding backdrop with staccato insistence. Each band member gets their introduction before the song builds up to a weird, gripping groove that’s as bracing now as it was in 1980, when it served as Exhibit A for a promising band with an ignominious end.

What You Could Not Visualise trailer (2023)
Warren Defever of His Name Is Alive

Return to Never: Revisiting Early His Name Is Alive

During the past year that took so many things away from us, including the catharsis of live music, I’ve increasingly relied on listening to LPs in their entirety, rather than my iPod on shuffle. 

All the Mirrors in the House: Early Recordings 1986-1990 (Disciples), the first of 3 volumes revisiting His Name Is Alive’s earliest cassette experiments, hit a perfect chord for me during this bizarre stasis-time we’re all trapped in; songs like “Piano Rev” feel unstuck in time and fathomless (a very now feeling). But it’s hopeful, too — it reminds me of standing at the edge of Lake Michigan at night for the first time. I just remember this vast, inky black inland sea with no edges, extending as far as the eye could see. It was awesome and transfixing, like staring into deep space. 

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