The new Satellite is out.

Satellite is a strange beast; a literary arts/entertainment/politics/poetry piece. It's completely terrible, but it appears the new Editor realizes this:

Satellite is under new leadership.

Hello.

Next issue we're really going to try, and it is still going to be the worst. The result of our best efforts, I predict, will be sixteen pages worth of terse, wordy, hyper-analytical drivel. The product of what the Naturals call "trying." "It seems like you're trying," they say. Or better yet, the complete opposite.

But at least next issue, the problem found in this issue will be solved.

If you haven't noticed yet, let me point it out to you. Take a look at the table of contents just below this note. Are there any similarities? Is there any unifying message/aesthetic/idea that brings these articles together? The answer is no. There is no reason why these articles should be packaged by this magazine. The problem with this issue is that the only thing bringing these articles together is convenience.

This is a convenient magazine.

Only arbitrary circumstances bring this paper together. And this is not a recent development. The former editors were seemingly more successful at creating the illusion of unity. By utilizing magazine gimmickry and theoretical sloganry, they were able to package a product that advertised its own coherence. Ultimately, however, the products were the same: a potpourri of fleeting interests, miscalculations, and unrestrained egotism all under the irreparably flawed guise of an uber-hip, cultured/esoteric posture. Sure, some say they enjoy writing. I laugh.

But why attempt to extinguish this tradition? Instead, I propose to cultivate this mania. Specifically, we will no longer reserve constructing the illusion of meaning with jingoistic catch phrases and copping some sleek avant-garde style in the post-editing process as means of signifying, "Oh yes, we are important, we are cool, we know that Raygun is passe, etc."

In other words, I propose substance. Or, to say the very least, to expertly tuck the messes away into the hem of this miserable garment with silvery threads of coherence. Now, while the promise of glittering misery sounds not like a promise at all, ideally, this exercise will.

This is an invitation. We need new writers. Come to our meetings. Wednesdays at 7pm in 5A Eshleman, on the UC-Berkeley campus. Write an article. Draw a pretty picture. Find yourself a girl/boyfriend.

Not much to add to this apt self-analysis, besides the whining note that it's just as self-concious and 'word-hip' as the tedious writing it condemns. That's being unkind, tho.

For all the teary-eyed 'We Suck' sentiment, this is actually a reasonably good Satellite. This is partly because it settles down into a Rolling Stone-esque reviewing mag, with the occasional other article. This doesn't make it a good magazine, as the reviews are sharply skewed towards very specific indy-type music, but it does provide some sort of identity. The Nader article is even legible, if inconclusive.Email This Post!