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s c e n e
by Sean Cameron
He scribbles madly on a cocktail napkin, collecting fragments of definitions and seemingly unconnected thoughts as to what this thing is -- it's really hard to say. "Inspirations," "Dada/Cutouts/Collage," "Folktales (Folklore)." It is elusive, and it ought to be; but it is also exciting, refreshing, and it speaks for itself through him. Hunter Kennedy graduated from U.Va. in the spring of 1992. He moved to Austin, Texas in the autumn of the same year, and that October published the first edition of The Minus Times, a literary almanac which he now edits out of New York City. It began as a one-page publication which he produced at the local Kinko's and gave away at local book and record stores. After the seventh edition, Kennedy started numbering each issue. This was only the first of many changes both the almanac and Kennedy faced; in the summer of 1996 he moved to Williamsburg, an artsy neighborhood at the edge of Brooklyn, taking the Times with him. There, he began discussions with the Chicago-based Drag City Records, who expressed interest in distributing the publication. Kennedy suggested an expansion, and the almanac increased in size to twenty pages. Defining The Minus Times, however, is somewhat problematic. Kennedy is especially passionate on the designation 'almanac' for his work. "What I want to do is break from the familiar format of fiction and poetry that dominates the literary review," he explains. "The old almanacs had folklore, predictions, remedies. It's a much more flexible format, and one that's indigenous to America. Well, maybe not invented, but certainly perfected here." He cites Ben Franklin as an inspiration and example for the publication. But perhaps the best portrait of The Minus Times comes from the "mission statement" penned by Kennedy himself for Drag City:
voices which are found nowhere else This explanation/poem touches on Kennedy's driving obsession, the capturing of new and undiscovered American voices. "The American frontier is not closed," he explains. "There are gaps continually opening, with voices which can be heard nowhere else. The original idea of America was to eschew tradition, to get away from the cultural, as well as political, constriction of Europe. America was an opportunity to start from scratch, and people took advantage of that. This attitude of newness and discovery served as an engine for American culture which continues to run. The quote by Frederick Jackson Turner stating that 'the American frontier is closed' was convenient at the time, as a call for people to settle down; but people continue to this day to shift around, so the American landscape never truly closed down. "For me, this shifting represents an edge -- America as the edge of stability. Most of the best stories come from those that live on the edge, physically and psychologically. Flux is constant in America, and The Minus Times is trying to capture some of that. If I can catch a conversation on paper, not a literal conversation, but that of America, of the guy shouting from the woods, then I feel I've been successful." Indeed, the intriguing voices of The Minus Times are those which do not find their way into print often enough. The summer 1997 edition of The Minus Times serves as a potent example of the disparate voices and talents that Kennedy brings together, deftly placing genres never found near each other side by side. At first glance, it seems like an ancient relic; its pages composed of erratic typewritten sentences. A further investigation of the contents proves even more alarming -- reporting, language poetry, jokes, drawings, a half-copied advertisement, chaos. Pamela Colloff's article "Jesus Is The Rock That Does Not Roll" is a report of a surreal weekend spent with prison evangelists in Beeville, Texas. It is a serio-comic evaluation, not the sensationalism of local news broadcasts. A few pages later is the language poetry of former Charlottesville resident and Silver Jews singer David Berman, who writes stream-of-consciousness verse with workman-like precision. Short stories are paired with a recipe for bourbon hot dogs. Genres of prose and poetry collide, yet do not get in the way of one another. Disunity provides the unity of The Minus Times; what emerges is something informative, beautiful, intensely personal, and new. Kennedy opens each issue with two recurring features which set the tone for the whole of the publication. "Strange poetry from the nation's newspapers," as referred to in the mission statement, is a section comprised of various newspaper articles cut and reassembled to resemble a continuous story. The effect is jarring -- the familiar newspaper type relating impossible tales of masturbation, crime, and excess. All of this is in the high modernist tradition of montage and "making strange," taking fragments of reality and rearranging them, forcing critical reflection of the everyday occurrences which float by unnoticed. "Pulling things out of context is important for a contemporary audience," Kennedy explains, "especially with all of the information overload. This way, the resonance of things can be handed back. We have access to so much information that it is hard to appreciate things for what they are." But Kennedy stresses the aesthetic of his device: "I'm interested in the poetic context of this -- I want to make a two-pronged attack. It's got to sound good as well as make a point." This section is always followed by "Letter from the Editor," a correspondence written by Kennedy to his sister Way-Way, which comes off like a desperate, rambling plea; a ghostly, confused, but energetic and vital voice from the fringes. But how does one market a publishing anomaly such as this? "That was the primary challenge with The Minus Times, not only integrating it into a larger format, and attracting other writers, but getting it out to people," says Kennedy resolutely. "One of the hardest things about putting out a magazine is the printing and distribution. Once it's written, you need to get people to read it. The goal right now is to break even, and just get it out there." When questioned about how The Minus Times fits into the oversaturated and often vapid magazine industry, Kennedy responds that he has "the independence to communicate on events honestly -- I do not have to answer to a bottom line. The publication is organic, in that it has the freedom to grow into something larger. "The publishing industry is being revolutionized with the copier. Anybody has a way to the industry through the copier machine, and at the rate it is going now and will continue, people will cut their teeth doing the DIY thing, where they can make mistakes that cannot be made in a larger, bottom line driven situation. People can hone their skills, and these little publications will grow into much more." The title Minus Times serves as a countdown to the coming millennium, but Kennedy clearly has his sights set further. "I ran into a woman in a bookstore a little while ago, and she was asking me questions about putting the Times out and getting it distributed and such. I told her the history, how it went from one page to this, and she said 'this will be a book soon,' like an anthology. She spoke as if it had already happened. And that's the direction the industry is moving in -- these little publications start off small, mature and grow. And I hope that's what will happen with The Minus Times, but I hope it happens soon because I only have two years left on the name." Whatever name change is necessary, it seems inevitable that Hunter Kennedy will be tracing the undiscovered voices and conversations of America long into the Internet-choked future.
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