Matthew McBride writes hard-edged crime fiction. His stories are engaging and entertaining and come from a man who knows what he is talking about. He writes real characters and if you read one of his stories you don’t forget it. They are also laced in black humour. Go to A Twist Of Noir to check them out.  He has written the novel ‘The Zoo Crew’. He knows a thing or two about guns.  He met me at The Slaughterhouse where we talked about real crime and assassination.

Scroll to the end of the interview for more McBride links.

You’re offered an unlimited sum of money to buy any superbike and gun you want, and you get to keep them. The condition is you have to assassinate someone, no questions asked, which bike and gun would you buy and how would you carry out the hit so as to avoid detection?

For starters, I’d go with a Suzuki GSXR 1300 Hayabusa. An older model, perhaps a 2005.

Something that’ll blend in. Preferable a common color, like black. A stock production model is capable of attaining speeds of 200 mph with little more than a twist of the wrist and balls of titanium. This is the machine I would use for the job.

As far as a weapon, certain variables are destined to come into play. For a long range hit, I’d use something with some reach. If I wanted to blow the targets head completely apart and really send a message, I’d go with a 300 Magnum. Or maybe a 7mm. Both of these high powered rifles offer superior firepower and have a reputation for devastation.

If the hit needed to be up close and personal, I’d go for a .22 pistol. Something small that you can easily conceal. If I had my choice, I’d do it cool weather. A jacket is a necessity. I’d use professional stage make up and glue a fake beard on my cleanly shaved face. I’d wear a hat.  Wait until the subject is in a crowd and walk up behind him, a cell phone up against my ear in one hand to make me look normal, the other hand has my .22 up the sleeve. Of course I am wearing gloves. Timing is everything, I’d leave nothing to chance. I’d make my way through the crowd, be casual, then put the pistol to the back of his neck as I walk by and squeeze the trigger once or twice.

I’d slip out of the coat by the time the first women screamed. Next I’d pull my beard off as I turned and yelled, “GUN!” myself, and instinctively blend in with the panic I just helped to create. I’d climb onto the Hayabusa and I’d take my time as to not arouse suspicion. Then I’d fade into traffic and ride for a long time with my eyes in the rear view mirror. I’d throw the gun from a bridge a hundred miles away from the crime scene.

By the time the authorities found the jacket and tested it for gun powder residue, I’d be in another state doing wheelies.

You’re on the trip with Hunter S. Thompson and you’re doing ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’ Someone tells you the whole thing’s boring and it needs pepping up, what can you add to the experience to enliven proceedings?

The only thing that could pep up our Las Vegas experience would be for the three of us to rob a taco stand under the influence of both mescaline and ether. I’m referring, of course, to Dr. Gonzo, his attorney Raoul Duke, and myself. We’d drop the blotter somewhere in between consuming large quantities of cocaine and huffing ether from Maxi pads. About the time the LSD kicked in we’d hit the door running.

It would go down something like this.

Dr. Gonzo kicks in the front door of the taco stand and immediately starts barking orders and giving commands. None of which make sense to anyone in the room. His attorney, Raoul Duke, enters through the back door. For reasons unknown to anyone, including Raoul Duke, he’s carrying a briefcase in his hand.

I’m waiting in the Great Red Shark, with a salt shaker full of cocaine and a double barrel 10 gauge at the ready. I stare at the tape recorder that’s playing “Sympathy for the Devil,” the only tape we have. The acid is strong. It’s taking hold and redirecting my thoughts, gripping me with both euphoria and paranoia. I feel the desert heat beating down on me. I suddenly understand I’m in a convertible. People can see me. But not just see me, they can see through me. They can read my mind. Am I talking, or thinking out loud?

Hunter, meanwhile, he’s inside giving everyone the business. “You filthy swine, where are those goddamn taco’s?” Nobody knows what he’s talking about. He raises a gun to the chest of the first man he sees. “This is your last chance, I say. Don’t be a fool man! Now tell me, where do you keep your tacos?”

The man looks down to find Dr. Gonzo threatening his life, not with a gun, but with a Pez dispenser shaped like Donald Duck.

“As your attorney, I advise you to kill this man,” Raoul is suggesting.

But the Dr. is eating pills from Donald’s head. Multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers. His attorney hands over his briefcase to a mannequin and orders her to fill it with hamburger. When she doesn’t comply, he throws his briefcase over his shoulder and produces a .357 magnum from the inside of his suit jacket. It’s a snubnosed Colt Python 5 with a beveled cylinder. He points it at her head, then attempts to engage her in small talk. He asks if she’s seen any lizards.

“Good God man, get a hold of yourself!” The Dr. orders. “Don’t listen to him,” he says to the mannequin. “He has a head full of acid right now and he’s not quite himself.” Then he starts laughing hysterically. They both start laughing.

At this point I stumble through the door covered in sweat with the shotgun in my hand. Everyone looks at me and the laughing stops. “They’ve found us,” I say with great reluctance.

“Who found us?” Hunter demands.

“The bats,” I explain.

“Christ, this is bat country!” the Dr. screams. He waves his arms wildly in the air, scattering his assortment of pills everywhere. Now there’s a rainbow of pharmaceuticals falling from the sky and I see them dance in the air in slow motion. I’m surrounded by faceless patrons and everyone can see my soul. I’ve, at last, taken leave of all my senses.

Raoul slips the snubnose back into his suit, then he apologizes to the dummy for any inconvenience we may have caused. He excuses himself the way he came in, and the next thing I know I’m in the backseat of the Shark, and Dr. Gonzo is behind the wheel. His attorney is laughing wildly as he passes back a Meerschaum pipe with smoke rolling from the mighty bowl, and he hands it to the bald headed mannequin that sits beside me.

I look down to find the backseat covered in whiskey bottles, a tequila bottle, at least fifty cans of beer, a package of light bulbs, a wig, and a paper sack with a big hookah and two Frisbees.

It turns out we robbed a clothing store at gunpoint and made off with a nude mannequin and a case of Scotch tape. If we ever find our way out of bat country, our next stop is the taco stand.

What are the ingredients that for you make a crime story stand out?

I like characters that are deeply flawed, and dialogue that’s real and convincing. Nothing that seems unnatural or forced. The plot should be unpredictable. If I can find a crime story that has all of these things, then I’m in. Violence is important, it’s fun to read and it’s damn fun to write. The world is a bad place, so I like stories that are realistic. There’s not always a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Sometimes there’s a bear trap.

Funny helps. I love to read about shit that goes wrong, forcing the characters to adapt to new situations, and the challenges that a new situation creates.

What I don’t enjoy are stories that you can read with your eyes closed. You can skip two chapters and not really miss anything. I love stories where you don’t know where they’re going. The best kind of crime stories are the kind that make you wanna write a crime story of your own. You have to force yourself to read slowly, because you want to savor it. You may actually set it down right before you get to the end, just so you can drag it out as long as you can. You want to fully appreciate the moment when you read that last page for the first time, because it only happens once. I like the kind of story where you have to go outside and fire a gun as soon as you finish reading it.

Do you think society criminalises people and what character distortions occur as a result of that?

If you’re asking if I think a person’s position in society has a direct consequence of them leading a criminal life, I think the answer is definitely yes. Although sometimes people choose crime and other times crime chooses them. If you’re born into the lifestyle and you grow up watching your father beat men with his fists because they owe him money, there’s a great chance one day you’ll be using your fist on someone too. If you grow up in a world where violence and crime are a part of your life, the definition of right and wrong can become blurred.

From a Sociological standpoint, background and upbringing play a key role in determining your future. The kind of punk who robs a liquor store for the money in the register is a different breed of criminal than the guy on wall street who’s embezzling funds from a hedge count or something. The first is an act of desperation, born from necessity. The second is an idea conceived through careful planing and research. One is about survival and the other is about greed. They’re both about risk.

But there’s always an option. You cannot allow your upbringing to ultimately control your destiny. A life of crime is a harsh alternative to a life without it. Everyone has a choice. Don’t paint yourself into a corner using the sympathy of others for color. Life can be hard and some people have more roadblocks than others, but in the end it’s the criminal who makes a conscious decision to break the law.

Your writing is vividly real and contains moments of humour. Do you have a particular take on what you see as humorous, given the darkness of your subject matter?

Thanks, it just seems to me that everybody likes to laugh. When I write, I see the story unfolding in my mind like scenes from a movie. I watch it in my head as I type. I don’t really think too much about it [at first] I’m basically just the middle man between my computer and my brain. I can only assume it works that way [or similar] for everyone who writes.

To me, writing is an extension of talking, and talking is an extension of thinking, so I guess I must just think a lot of funny thoughts. As a writer, I just like to see characters in bad situations and I’ve found that if you use enough humor, you can get away with a lot. I just wrote a story about a man who decides to cut another mans legs off with a chainsaw, because he refused to sit down at a sporting event. Now come on, that’s a pretty fucked up thing to write about, I think we can all agree on that, but the narrative voice was funny enough that, as a writer, I got away with it, without running off my audience.

As far as what I think is funny? I guess I must have a pretty fucked up sense of humor, not sure what else to say. I love to see others get hurt, that shit is funny to me. You’re watching America‘s Funniest Home Video’s, and there’s Dad, showing off with his new boomerang. Wow, this thing is cool! Mom’s recording the whole thing, so dad starts getting confident, mugging it up, flexing his guns. Then the boomerang returns and takes him out. Or Grandpa’s teaching little Suzie how to swing a golf club, and when he looks up to smile proudly into the camera, little Suzie inadvertently tags grandpa in the coin purse with a driver.

As horrible of a person as I must be, I do like to see bad shit happen to other people. You know, within reason. Falling off a roof would not be funny.

Now I’ve gotta tell you this story. I’ve been sitting here laughing about this for 10 minutes, because this interview has me thinking. Years ago when I worked at Chrysler [I assembled mini vans] well, I had this hella long drive to work everyday, and one day I was rolling through this little shitter town called Beaufort, radio thumping, one hitter in my hand, and I just happened to see this huge, massive guy on a lawnmower, and this fucking lawnmower was obviously too small for him. I mean it was woefully inadequate, and he’s cruising through his yard at Mach 1, bouncing over stumps and shit. It looked like he was in seventh gear, and this guy was really hauling the mail. I realize something isn’t quite right, and then, BAM, he drives the machine right into the side of his house and a medium sized length of guttering broke free from the roof and fell on him.

I pulled over immediately, not to help, but to laugh. There truly is no way for me to put into words how funny that shit was to me. I remember laughing sporadically for a day or two, and I told everyone I know.

Does this make me a bad person? Probably.

What is the most dangerous place you have ever been and why?

I’ve actually been in some pretty dangerous places, and definitely some pretty fucked up situations. The craziest was south of the border. Me and a friend were robbed by Mexican soldiers armed with machine guns. It was about 3 Am and we were just outside of Laredo. It’s a long story, but my buddy’s girlfriend was Mexican, and she was able to negotiate a deal. We got lucky, because I’m pretty sure they wanted to mow us down.

Another time, I was in Springfield, Mo with some friends, and loooong story short, I ended up with this crazy bastard I didn’t really know and he robbed a drug dealer while I was with him. We ended up at some weird house, and we’d just done some Beavis & Butthead acid. This was probably around 1993. Well, I was already starting to weird out and we still had an hour drive back to Branson. We were just supposed to stop by this house for a minute. This guy [Dolan] goes in, while I wait in the truck. I actually have no idea how long I sat there and waited for him. It might have been an hour, or it could have been thirty seconds. I was probably 18 or 19. I was young, the acid was strong, and I was standing on the threshold of a great adventure…

And then Dolan runs out of the house and jumps on the running board of my Bronco, screaming they had guns, they were gonna shoot us. Suddenly, I’m shagging ass down some dark street I don’t know, late at night, no headlights, and I remember it felt like the steering wheel was turning to liquid in my hand. Dolan said he was shooting at us, but I don’t actually think he was. I can’t say that I ever heard a gun shot, but it was definitely the kind of neighborhood where gunshots were a way of life. I realize it sounds similar to the a drug fueled HST story, but that’s because it was. And Dolan ended up losing whatever it was that he stole. He couldn’t even remember what he took, and we never found anything the next day.

How corrupt do you think the police force is?

I guess it depends on your definition of corruption. Small towns are the worst. Everybody knows everybody and there’s always somebody who gets away with something they shouldn’t. But cops deal with various levels of temptation that most people can’t imagine.

At one point, I actually considered the idea of law enforcement. Not because I wanted to make a difference, I just wanted to drive a fast car and carry a gun. But I learned there’s a lot more to the job than that. And you’ve gotta wear a uniform. Plus there’s all that paperwork.

In the end, I would have made the worst cop ever. I’d have a hard time arresting a guy with $5 worth of weed. I couldn’t do it. I’d just keep it. And I can see myself balls deep in the hot pursuit of a perp, only to slap him on the back after I catch him and say, “That was really a great car chase, bro. Let’s do that again sometime.” — Okay, perhaps I would have made the best cop ever. It all depends on your definition of good vs. bad and what side of the law you stand on.

My view of police changed after I started riding crotch rockets. Police HATE fast motorcycles because they know they can’t catch them and cops don’t like to lose. But cops will still try and chase you anyway, for the reasons I described above. Cops are also adrenaline junkies and they’re looking for the next big chase themselves. Sometimes they want you to run just so they can chase you. I like times like these, but then when they don’t catch you, it only makes their hatred for you grow. So the very next guy on a motorcycle who does stop is getting a ticket for the one he couldn’t give you. That’s why I’ve found it always cheaper [and more fun] to run.

Tell us about your novel.

THE ZOO CREW is about five guys from Vegas who travel to Missouri to rob a riverboat casino. The first half is about the crew as they make their way to Missouri. They all travel by different routes and lots of different shit goes wrong for everybody along the way. There are basically five individual stories until they all come together about ¾ of the way through. There’s mega violence in a lot of scenes. One character even gets chained to a tree and his genitalia is eaten by beavers. Uh huh, you read that right. As unlikely as that sounds, it makes a lot of sense once you read it. Nobody likes a rat. If you try and jam up one of your partners, you’re going to get dealt with. This asshole got dealt with.

I’m also working on my second novel. It’s about crime in the 1920’s and 30’s. The true age of gangsters as far as I’m concerned. Prohibition era type shit, where people are cut down by Thompson submachine guns. In a lot of ways, it’s the most hardcore, brutal thing I’ve ever written. In the first chapter alone, two men are murdered by shotguns and there’s even cannibalism. These were hard times, when hard men were made and worlds collided. Everyone was desperate to survive and there was no law in the backwoods. Only the law of man, in a time when organized crime took it’s first breath of life. It’s called THE SHOTGUN WALTZ.

Hopefully one day they get published and you can read them. I’m curious as to which one sounds more interesting, if anyone cares to comment.

Not counting crimes of passion, what do you think distinguishes a real killer from other people?

Greed is a pretty good reason to kill a man. So is love. So is hate. But everyone has the potential to pull the trigger, it’s all just a matter of circumstance. I think most people kill out of emotion, which would fall under the crimes of passion category. But sometimes people underestimate the power of emotion. People fight and things spiral out of control. Before you know it, somebody’s dead. The cops show up, the person who did the killing has calmed down, realized what they did was wrong, and they are truly sorry. Remorse.

Then you have real people like the characters so many of us write about. Men who will shoot a guy, then go make a sandwich. Maybe the dead guy owed somebody money. Some people will just kill with very little regard to the consequences. It’s what they do. Killing is just business.

Then there’s the revenge kill. Those always seem to be the most socially accepted. A guy kills his barber, because he got a shitty haircut. The barbers son stabs the guy in the throat with a Buck knife. Payback. He had it coming. Most people can get behind that sort of killing.

But what about the guy who kills to protect? If someone tried to hurt my wife or kids, even my long haired chihuahua, I’m pretty sure I’d have to shoot them.

In the end, I think everybody has a killer inside them somewhere.  They just have to look deep enough to find him.

If you were to direct a crime film with a difference how would you make it stand out from all the other films?

I think every filmmaker wants to do something that’s never been done before, and every audience is looking for something they’ve never seen. Your options are simple — strive for originality, the act in itself a never ending quest, or try and remake something that’s already been done before. But if you go that route, you better do it better than it was done the first time.

As a fan of crime films, I don’t wanna be bullshitted. I want to believe what I’m seeing is actually happening. I’d make a film as real as possible, but it wouldn’t be over the top, Hollywood style. The characters would lack well defined abs and a strong jawline. Brad Pitt is never going to rob a bank, the son of a bitch is just too good looking. But a guy with a receding hairline and a scar across his chin, now I can see this guy in a shoot out. I can tell this bastards had a rough life just by the expression on his face. Is he somehow risking less than a better looking man? No, but for some reason I’m left with the impression that he doesn’t have as much to loose.

I love to see deep characters that have a lot more to offer than you realize. In a book, you get to know these guys over the course of many hours, even days. When you’re submerged in a magnificent book, you’re torn between two worlds. You read as fast as you can, and when the book is done, after you just spent so much time with these “people,” they seem real to you. – But it’s hard to show the true depth of a character on film because of other visual aspects that drive the story within the time frame. You generally only have about two hours to tell the whole story. Unless you’re Kevin Costner, then all of your movies are epic five hour marathons and you end up over telling the thing. Somewhere along the way you end up loosing your audience. Sure, they liked it, but it could have ended about an hour sooner.

Thank you Matthew for giving a great and totally honest interview.

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GOT PULP? [blog]

UV Ray is one of the most powerful voices of the literary underground. Iconoclastic and irreverent, he is the necessary antidote to the smug commercialism of the formulaic publishers and their profit seeking margins. He is a widely published author and a man who writes stories that disturb the self-congratulatory equilibrium earned on the soft back of media manipulation. He has written the non-linear novel ‘Spiral Out’ about late eighties Birmingham. He met me at The Slaughterhouse where we talked about alienation and literature.

William Blake thought artists and criminals were both outsiders. What do you think of his observation?

Well, I read the more well known poets and no wonder so many people don’t bother reading poetry. It is criminal. These bastards inflict incalculable damage on their own chosen art form. So I would suggest that most of these fuckers who refer to themselves as artists should be put to the gallows. I tell you, I’d pull the lever myself – with flourish.

It’s funny you should ask that though because recently I was reading Colin Wilson’s A Criminal History of Mankind. Some of the ideas Wilson puts forth seem to me to be ill thought out and speculative. However, he does make an interesting observation in that England was a rather stoic and unimaginative place until the Gothic novel emerged in the 1700’s. Literature was little more than reportage prior to this. But after writers began to meld into their work aspects of sex and violence the greater use of the imagination permeated the whole of society. People became more imaginative in their pursuits – including criminals. So according to Wilson the advent of Gothic and romantic fiction instigated a kind of revolution on society. It sounds feasible enough to me.

What two influences or events that have occurred in your life have changed you and how?

I’m not interested in resolutions. I don’t write stories that establish an early conflict and follow a formulaic course to completion. I don’t believe in structure. I do not view fiction as a gleaming new apartment block. I see it as the derelict factory shell; something that once churned with punching machinery but is now only a decrepit carcass. To me, there seems to be a beauty in loss in the same way that unrequited love is often the most intense. My typical world view is one of dystopian wreckage . In much the same way, I believe in breaking the structure of a story down to its barest essentials. Symbolically, my work is a representation of the world I see. It is only by destroying rigid structures we create something greater than the two-dimensional.

I can’t really say that any singular life experience has influenced me. At least nothing beyond a certain aesthetic. My mother had me when she was 18. She was dead at 19. I never knew her. I suppose that changed the direction of my life but I cannot possibly form a conclusion on how because I will never know what the alternative would have been.

The history of modern writing may be crudely divided into the outsiders and insiders. We live in an age of formulaic writing motivated by profit hungry publishers, and much of this is dominated by the economic relation with Hollywood. By contrast, historically we have writers like Jean Genet, who spent most of his life in prison, and the Beat movement among others. Do you think the dichotomy is purely economic or do the underlying reasons go deeper?

I am reminded of… and I can’t remember which actress said it now… but she said, “who do I have to fuck to get off this movie?” I’m pretty much asking the same question. I mean, all of us outsider writers are just banging our heads against a wall. I’ve been skirting the fringes of the literary scene for two decades. I have no idea why I put myself through it. It’s a fucking disease. Coming back to the idea of criminals and artists: I don’t think it’s just writers who can be divided into outsiders and insiders. I think it applies to people as a whole. And some of those outsiders write. Others rob banks and rape and kill. Poets apparently have an unusually high rate of suicide. In the vast majority of cases that notion warms my heart.

I’m not completely sure the relation to Hollywood is the fundamental issue. I think society as a whole has become homogenised and it is symptomatic of that. I’m not too much of an academic thinker so I don’t sit around trying to work it all out. We’re really back to the aesthetics that stimulate me. I’m not saying anything new when I say that most works of great literature, in its own time, hit that same wall we are now hitting our heads against. Writers like Henry Miller, Georges Bataille and Bill Burroughs were all rejects of their time. Even now their works have essentially only garnered a cult following. The great unwashed as a whole remain ignorant of their work. They go out and buy Jackie fucking Collins. I mean Christ almighty, the number of times I have mentioned Lou Reed in conversation and been met with blank faces! But who cares? Let the fuckers eat their shit and die. I mean, what infected vagina spat Justin Bieber into this world? In fact, I don’t think it’s much different now to how it has always been. It might appear the past was a better place, but in reality the scum-sucking bottom feeders that are the hoi polloi have always sucked up shit. But really, I’ve gotta tell you – the rising cost of alcohol concerns me much more than all this. I’m just a writer. My only goal is to in some way preserve moments in time. I take literary snapshots. Predominantly in my poetry, I seek to preserve the essence of a moment, rather than mere reportage. Someone once said I write Zen poetry. I don’t think about it too much. I think in a way I’m just trying to preserve something of myself. I doubt I’ll be around long.

But anyway, fuck the publishers. Fuck them right in the face. The day of the contrived plot driven novel is dead. We are the new avant-garde. All I need is whiskey, my Moleskine notebook and my pen. That, and the conviction that I’m not writing for the common rabble. If I gained the acceptance of the masses I’d go and jump off a cliff in shame. I have greater concerns than the whims of the hoi polloi. What they deserve is a good punch up the knickers and nothing more. If I sound like an elitsist that’s because I am. Many writers have tried to write for the common man. Many have tried to offer them something true and pure. And the bastards have wholly rejected those efforts. So my attitude is fuck ‘em up the jacksie with a red-hot poker. We should take literature back off them and hand it to someone with the wherewithal to appreciate it. Go back to your Jackie Collins novels and your Mills & Boon, you stinking bastards.

Georges Bataille wrote in ‘Erotism’ ‘The transgression does not deny the taboo but transcends it and completes it’. To what extent do you think it’s true that by rebelling, by rejecting the source of authority that is also the cause of opprobrium, we reinforce the predominant power structure?

Well, I am pleased you added that bit at the end because you and I both, of course, know what opprobrium means; but there might have been a few readers who would have had to look that up in a dictionary.

Yeah, it’s like heroin. In not taking it one might strengthen desire. But that is only true if there has been an addiction in the first place.

Politically speaking, the true opposition tactic is to simply ignore, to transcend. Or at least to employ the Judo method – using their own momentum to deck them. But it’s so much more fun pretending to buy John Cooper Clarke a Creme-de-Menthe but slipping him a glass of fairy liquid!

The problem lies in the fact that people have allowed themselves to become subservient to those predominant power structures, rather than those structures being subservient to human potential. Of course, we can speak of human potential as if humanity as a whole possessed it. From what I’ve seen, most of them don’t. I once read someone say that a species that can put a man on the moon shouldn’t be satisfied with eating McDonalds. That’s quite funny.

I’ve already spoken about breaking structures down. It’s like cellular regeneration. I still firmly believe we should stick our fingers up at mainstream publishers and proclaim: “fuck you, Grand-dad, I write what I like!” Now whether or not I am ceding them power, I don’t care. I resist them with every bone and sinew in my body. Their bullcrap mustn’t be allowed to thrive. Cake is far too good for them. Let them eat shit, I say.

There is quite a rare book entitled Might is Right by Ragnar Redbeard. Supposedly this is a pseudonym employed by Jack London but it’s not entirely certain who wrote the book. In it Redbeard asserts the basic premise that only the threat of ultimate and unequivocal violence works in the realm of human affairs. And I’ll tell you, for all their superior technology, no alien is ever going to perform medical procedures on me. Of course, I’m veering off the subject somewhat, but if the greys land I’d say: “You come anywhere near me and I’ll deck you, you little twat!”

Tell us about your novel.

Ahh, the much anticipated Spiral Out. Anticipated by whom I am not sure.

I’ve completed two novellas, in fact. I actually think the second one, Jump Cuts, is far better than Spiral Out. But it’s all academic since I doubt either of them will see the light of day. Having said that, a 6000 word excerpt from Jump Cuts is due to appear as a short story in the upcoming Out of the Gutter Magazine, chosen by Danny Bowman of Pulp Press, as part of their UK vs USA noir challenge. Although I should say I don’t consider myself a genre writer of any description.

I’m sure I’m not unique in finding my own work difficult to talk about. When people ask me what it’s about I just can’t explain it. There’s no real plot lines, you see. I wrote both books pretty much straight off the cuff. Spiral Out essentially focuses on the lack lustre existence of bored rich kid Mark Karzoso as he floats around the bars and nightclubs of a late eighties Birmingham city as he struggles to find meaning in his life. Eighties Birmingham was a rather seedy world and the book is 80% autobiographical. It’s definitely a tale of sex, drugs and violence, resulting in inevitable chaos.

I am told my writing is extremely dark and somewhat depressing. Which comes as a shock to me because I was always under the impression I wrote comedy. Spiral Out is currently under consideration and I have completely fucked up any opportunity for self-promotion here. I honestly have no idea how to describe either of the books. Excerpts from both have garnered some keen interest – but I always wonder if people are merely being polite.

You mentioned formulaic writing being motivated by an economic relationship with Hollywood . In fact, Jump Cuts as a title is a reference to Jump Cutting in film. In the book I jump between camera angles focusing on the interlinked lives of its central characters spanning four decades. If the novel has any structure at all, that’s about the only one. What I have essentially done is take a story and chop it up. I hope that doesn’t make it a work of meta-fiction because that wasn’t my intention. I’m interested in that collision of lives through dereliction and desperation.

I don’t know. I just hope those that read the Out of the Gutter excerpt want to read more.

Do you think that black satire subverts the forms of literature that aim for realism since it breaks the lines of discourse?

Again, coming back to what I was saying earlier, I was always frustrated by fiction being two dimensional. It seemed inescapable. I think this was the dilemma Truman Capote felt he was facing when he hit upon his idea of the non-fiction novel when he wrote In Cold Blood. And now I think that concept needs looking at again. Great art provides us with a genuine document of the social climate of which it is born. I’m not really one for such labels but I think black satire is real enough in itself. Does it really break lines of discourse? I’m not so sure it does. I’d never thought of it that way. I think it does hold up a mirror. Perhaps that provides a source of discomfort but I don’t think it breaks lines of discourse. At least, not as I am understanding the polemic.

Deleuze and Guatarri suggest in their book ‘Anti-Oedipus’ that the capitalist machine actually generates states of schizophrenia. Do you think that those who are outside a system, especially one with totalitarian leanings, are conditioned to what mainstream psychiatry views as psychotic states and that art is a counter strategy?

That’s all hypothesis though, surely? I don’t think it matters what system is installed, there will always be those who find themselves on the outside of it. Modern psychiatry appears to be frequently coming out with a right load of old shit. I think they try to classify everything. They seem to be looking for excuses for everything. Sometimes kids don’t have Attention Deficit Disorder – they’re just a little cunt.

There has always appeared to be a perceived correlation between artists and anarchists. There are those who embrace their outsider status. For others, I think being an outsider may well give rise to feelings if alienation. For some people that may well generate mental problems.

Of course, there are other theories that capitalism is the engine of the economy. But appearances can be deceptive. As I have already said people have become subservient to governments and corporations. That’s the way they want it. Remove those safety nets and people start having breakdowns all over the place.

I would have to have read Deleuze and Guatarri’s book to address their assertion. But I won’t be doing so anytime soon. I’m always leery of people with a political agenda. I’ve seen these new Winnie the Pooh box sets. I’d rather read those. I also like the Mister Men. I wonder why they never did a Mister Couldn’t-Give-A-Fuck.

On your site you mention Charles Manson, who was convicted in the late sixties for the incitement of the Tate/LaBianca murders. How do you view his actions and the influence he had over his group in terms of the wider cultural context the killings are set against and the perception of him by the media?

My uncle Charlie has some void within him that always required filling. I think he sought to do this by finding people to idolise him. In doing so he surrounded himself with a bunch of fuck-ups. I’ve corresponded with him and his mind is indeed a strange but compelling affair. Like Hitler or Cliff Richard, Manson has become a symbol of all that is putrid. This is actually a perfect example of how symbolism solidifies perceptions. When in truth no one is completely good or completely evil. Within the parameters of mass perception, Manson is nothing more than a mad-eyed symbol. It’s almost illegal to show any pictures of Hitler behaving in a human manner; almost everything you are allowed to see is footage that serves to solidify that concept of him being the insane beast.

Manson’s trial became a matter of politics. It was him against the government. And it’s strange because you already mentioned this – but he allowed his rebellion to fuel their fire. In a sense, he bought their wrath on himself by opposing them. I mean, they wanted to send him to the gas chamber or the electric chair! I mean, let’s face facts: Charles Manson didn’t actually carry out the Tate / LaBianca murders. To be up for the death penalty – and, as it turned out, life behind bars, is somewhat dubious for incitement to murder. Or as Charlie puts it, “For what? Because I hung around with a bunch of people who killed somebody?”

Vincent Bugliosi certainly had a lot to do with constructing the mythos and hoopla that has surrounded the legend. He welded together fact and fiction to create the mythos. If Hunter S. Thompson can be credited with creating Gonzo journalism then Bugliosi can be credited with Gonzo prosecution.

I liked what Charlie said in an interview from his prison once: “If I wanted to take a shit in this bucket, the next day there would be a rule written – no shitting in buckets.”

Maybe I am of a criminal mindset, I don’t know. But me and my uncle Charlie, we think alike. As per his own quote regarding me: “Had I been bound in u.v.ray’s body I could have written this book.”

Well said, uncle Charlie. Well said.

I have two CDs of Charlies Manson’s music. I think the song “Look at Your Game Girl” from his Lie lp is available on Youtube. It’s a really great song. We’re coming back to artists and criminality again. But Charlie missed his boat. There’s that element of wanting to be loved in all artists, I think. It’s a thin line we walk.

Which living writers do you think have the ability to disturb?

What really disturbs me is how many copies of Jeremy Clarkson’s latest autobiographical effort have been selling! I mean, Jesus H. Christ! The World According to Clarkson. The Cult of Celebrity never ceases to amaze me. Especially when it’s a two-bit b-list celebrity.

I haven’t read Lee Rourke’s The Canal yet, but he seems to have disturbed a lot of people with that offering. And Michel Houellebecq seems to cause something of a hoo ha in France just about every time he completes a book. Though frankly, his Atomised bored me to tears.

But most fiction does, you know, I don’t read much fiction at all. Few works of fiction can hold my attention all the way through. I read mostly non fiction. Who has a natural ability to disturb these days? I don’t know. Everything is so transparent or old news now. In such a politically correct climate I suppose anyone who simply tells the truth would be considered the most disturbing. People seem to have become leery of hearing a few truths. The big taboo at the moment seems to be racial and religious issues – and that does appear to be the case with Houellebecq. The issue itself has most probably been exacerbated since 9/11.

Personally, I don’t care where the terrorist threat comes from. I just wish terrorists would stop misdirecting their energies towards the indiscriminate target of innocent members of the public. We all know who the enemies of man are. I wouldn’t mind a bit of freedom from political tyranny myself. Some might call me a socialist. And they’d be wrong. But let’s not go further down this road otherwise I’ll land myself in hot water. Walls have ears.

I think the most disturbing writers probably don’t get read. We are living in a world where only the blandest of shit gets through the system. I refuse to believe they’re not out there.

Do you think we live in an age of intensive pressure to conform and who profits from it?

Well now I am reminded of a writer I should have mentioned in my answer to the last question! I don’t even think there is an obvious pressure to conform. Someway, somehow what we now have is a will to conform. It’s something that has subtly crept into society, art and politics. This is what I was saying about subservience to corporations. We live in a consumer culture where there is a fear of not being part of the herd. It’s the death of culture. As I have said before we live in a time when Justin Bieber is elevated above Lou Reed. Curtis White in his book, The Middle Mind: Why Consumer Culture Is Turning Us Into The Living Dead, posits that it is a mainstream consensus that does not offend but challenges or moves no one, a media machine that equates Madonna with Milton.

Society has always lived under tyranny. Many years ago the average man had to doff his cap if a member of the wealthy classes passed him in the street. Now they just buy their products and adopt them as a lifestyle choice with the same dogmatic subservience.

I mean, I realise I sound like a bitter man. But the truth is it’s only because I am so dismayed at people. So much potential wasted in their subjugation. I want to put a bomb under them and say: for fuck sake, wake up and realise your human potential! But of course, the vast majority of people accept what is sold to them like animals stand and accept the rain.

I don’t know what it’s going to take to forge some fucking resistance into the bones of mankind. But I wonder whether all this bile is merely an external manifestation of my frustration at myself for my own lack of achievement.

Thank you UV for giving a highly individual and honest interview.

Kristin Fouquet is a brilliant photographer. If my opinion is worth anything in years to come her understated brilliance will be widely recognised. She is in total command of the camera because she lets each picture tell its story. There is a remarkable absence of control in her photography and a pure sense of beauty that is erotic in its balancing of colour and shadow. She has an artist’s eye and deep understanding of imagery and the way it taps into the subconscious. She is one of the most stunning photographers around. She inherits a deep tradition which she has evolved into her own style. She is also a vividly engaging and evocative writer. Her book ‘Twenty Stories’ is available here. She met me at The Slaughterhouse and we spoke about art and the fragility of the moment.

Scroll down for more links to Kristin’s work.

While you do use colour, you are well known for your stunning and imaginative black and white photography, in which the influences of Henri Cartier-Bresson and Man Ray are evident. Do you consider black and white a more effective medium for certain visual representations and if so why?

Thank you for your interest in my photography. You’re right, I was definitely influenced by them; they’re true masters. I found it painfully disappointing when Cartier-Bresson lost all interest in photography, dismissing the photograph as an “instant drawing.” Perhaps, he found it came too easily for him and wanted the challenge of drawing again. When I think of street photography, I think of Cartier-Bresson. I adore Man Ray’s surrealistic portraits. Of course, he also had the advantage of beautiful subjects like his lover Kiki and later Lee Miller. In his conceptual photographs, I think of him as an architect, constructing his shots.

I can’t speak for all visual representations and certainly color photography has its place, but my instinct has always been black and white. Long before I owned a camera, I spent many childhood hours staring into mirrors. This wasn’t an act of narcissism because I was rarely looking at my own reflection. I would tilt my head or move around a hand-held mirror to view a room from different angles. These perspectives revealed minutiae: a small box or a figurine on a table, things which may have gone unnoticed. With the ability to segment or crop with a mirror, my environment became more interesting. I think this hobby of my youth is why I was attracted to photography in general and especially black and white. Monochrome forces the mind to see the world differently. Similar to Film Noir, black and white photography sets a mood; it enhances texture, shadow, and depth that I do not see in color.

Alhazen invented the first camera obscura in the Middle Ages, which has had a great influence on the development of art as well as photography. What do you think the visual effects of a camera obscura are and how do these differ from other techniques of visual representation?

Well, first I feel compelled to defend photography as art. Obviously, not all photographs are art; some are just snapshots or pictures. In its infancy, photography was met with some resistance from the art world. Many painters felt threatened by a new medium for portraiture. Yet, photography aided the art of painting and this can initially be seen in the early use of the camera obscura.

I had heard the term before and tinkered with pinhole cameras, but it wasn’t until 2001 that I really appreciated its simple brilliance. While in San Francisco, I visited the “Giant Camera,” a camera obscura constructed outside of the Cliff House. Inside the small building, I was amazed by the images of the Seal Rock area magnified on the parabolic screen. Producing this visual effect must have been a most valuable tool for drawing. The advantage of tracing the projection would have sped up the duration of portrait sittings. I cannot estimate its significance for art in general nor the extent of the influence on the artists, such as Vermeer and Caravaggio, who used the camera obscura. As for the history of photography, it was the archetype for all modern cameras and therefore invaluable.

Of course photography is art. Caravaggio used street characters for his paintings. The best photography is natural and unstaged. How do you draw on the everyday characters you see around in your work and what kinds of juxtapositions of images do you like to use for your effects?

I sometimes compare taking photographs to fishing. The best shot being the “catch of the day.” I feel street photography is closer to hunting. You must stalk your subjects, hoping they don’t discover you. I believe once a person realizes he or she is being photographed, it ceases being pure street photography and becomes street portraiture. My favorite photographer of street portraits is Diane Arbus. Yet, if we’re talking about the best photography being natural and unstaged, this would not fall in the same category because even smiling at the camera is staged.

So, for street photography, timing is key. When I’m walking I hold my camera at different inconspicuous angles as to sneak in my shots. I often shoot from the car. One day I was driving down Rampart St. here in New Orleans where I saw a man riding a tandem bicycle alone and yelling over his shoulder to another man. Well, I’ve been told you make art because you have to and this is a good example. At the time, I was a bit miffed, aggravated with myself because I knew I had to turn around and get the shot. I was feeling lazy, but I made the U-turn and stopped the car in the middle of Rampart St., rolled down the window, and got it. I’m so pleased with the results. I’ve titled the photograph simply “Tandem” and it among some other photos of mine are being published in Boneshaker: a Bicycling Almanac. This is also a great example of the kind of street photos I like- one person reacting to another or to a group. I do very little tweaking of these photographs, maybe just an adjustment of contrast levels. I prefer to keep them simple black and white images.

New Orleans is steeped in the history of Gris Gris and Jazz. How do these two parts of life there bear on your photography?

There is a mystique about New Orleans which is not easily explained. In my youth, I found the stories of Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans, alluring. I read of her methods for persuasion, the same ones her daughter, Marie, perpetuated. This legacy confused many who believed the two women were the same, powerful and ageless one. Through these stories, I gained an appreciation for my historic city as a mysterious place. Although I embrace this aspect of my culture and attribute some of my darker imagery to it, I’m not superstitious and I don’t believe in voodoo.

I do, however, believe in jazz. It’s what I’m listening to most of the time. My first musical love is traditional jazz, but I adore most forms of jazz and have a soft spot for female vocalists. I’m fortunate to live in a city rich with jazz talent and the opportunity to capture it. Live music is played every night of the week here. There’s music on the street and some of my favorite clubs are on Frenchmen Street in the Faubourg Marigny. As you may have seen in my “Musicians” series, I enjoy photographing players at all stages of their careers and styles of music. The street musician is just as interesting to me as the brass band or the torch singer.

What do crows and skeletons represent in your photography and when you take a photograph is there a particular moment you are looking for that captures the interworld feeling you portray?

Dark birds captivate my imagination with their beauty and mystery. Crows are omnivorous and will eat almost anything, including carrion and trash. They are also intelligent, able to problem solve and mimic the sounds of other birds and animals. I admire their cunning and adaptability. I try to photograph them as much as possible. When I do capture them with the camera, I feel I’m a little closer to understanding them. I was also an early contributor to Full of Crow created by Lynn Alexander. I composed the photograph “Two Birds” for her, which she renamed “Two Crows” and uses as the main page for the site.

Bone Men are a Mardi Gras tradition. They masquerade as skeletons making their way through older neighborhoods, banging on doors and rattling shutters to wake the inhabitants and encourage them to join the revelry. They begin at the cemetery early in the morning because they are supposed to be vehicles for the spirits throughout the day. I adore the concept and feel fortunate if I see them. Aside from costuming, skeletons remind the living that we are mere bones beneath the flesh; we do not even own our bodies. Death is coming for all of us, giving value to life.
I think all photographers are seeking that moment when you get the shot. Often for me, it feels like serendipity- as if I had nothing to do with it. Sometimes you get lucky; other times you have to work for it. I follow my eye and my emotions, what I call my instinct. When it happens, the moment, it’s pure elation.

There is much of the burlesque in your imagery. Do you consider yourself an erotic photographer at all?

I do enjoy the playfulness, the comic tease of burlesque. It’s flirtation. This does show itself in some of my photographs. There are actually a few burlesque troupes in this city, but they are being well documented by other photographers, so I don’t seek them out to shoot. Tim Hall invited me to do a monthly photo column, “Intimates by Kristin Fouquet,” for his wonderful Undie Press. My column features mischievous, sometimes sexy, shots showcasing underwear. It’s turning out to be a more challenging assignment than first expected as people are not quite as willing to allow me to photograph them in their undergarments as I had hoped.

While I have set up some erotic portraits, I wouldn’t call myself an erotic photographer. The human body can be beautiful and I’m attracted to nudes, yet here again there’s no shortage of photographers shooting them. I’m certainly not opposed to photographing the erotic, but there would have to be more to the scene, a larger story, beyond the obvious. Of course, I’d also have to find some models, a daunting task.

Erotic implies desire. I feel this could be the lustful anticipation of any need. I think oysters are sexy and my photograph “Raw” is erotic to me. If you don’t enjoy eating raw oysters, the same image could be repulsive. So if desire, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder, I am an erotic photographer if a viewer finds something erotic in my photography.

Guy de Maupassant is an author you admire, he is noted for his macabre dissections of the human emotions and fears. When you take a shot of someone are you trying to peel away a layer of the human veneer and how does your visual life come through in your own writings?

A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you the less you know. – Diane Arbus

The most difficult thing for me is a portrait. You have to try and put your camera between the skin of a person and his shirt. – Henri Cartier-Bresson

Forgive the two quotes, but I have always felt strongly about those two photography statements. I’m not merely allowing the masters to speak for me; I think there is truth there. We photographers do hope to capture some revelation from our subjects. In some cultures, permitting your picture to be taken is having your soul stolen. Often when I do a portrait for someone, the person only wants to look good. There are few things as dishonest as a fake smile, but we’ve all done it at some point for the camera. The smile is a defense mechanism when a camera is turned on you. I’m not suggesting people shouldn’t smile in photos, but I find the best portraits are when the subject has become comfortable around the photographer and the smile is more relaxed and genuine. A sitting of this nature takes time and requires a level of intimacy with which many people would be uncomfortable.

I’m fortunate to photograph and write. I think the two feed off one another. Photographs like “Tandem,” which I mentioned earlier, and “Anticipation” feel like short stories to me. When you look at a photo and your imagination is piqued, this is good. I’m a visual person, so when I write, I see everything. A great deal of restraint is used so I don’t describe the entire scene. Readers should be able to supply some details of their own.

Do you ever see your photographs in your dreams?

I don’t see my existing photographs, but I wonder if I will after this question since the suggestion will be floating around in my subconscious. I have had ideas for photos come to me in dreams. Back when I used film, there would sometimes be a delay of days before I developed the rolls. I would often dream about what I thought the shots would look like. I developed the film and made prints in my makeshift darkroom, a bathroom with an enlarger on the toilet and the processing trays in the bathtub. Under the red light bulb, I wasn’t sure what I had captured until the image emerged in the developing tray. Sometimes, it turned out to be better than I had dreamed; other times worse. With digital photography, you don’t have that hopeful anticipation; you know instantly. I don’t miss the chemical fumes of the darkroom, but I miss those eager moments.

The other morning I awoke remembering an apartment I had been dreaming about; it was familiar. I kept going over the dream, seeing myself in the apartment. I moved a lot when I was younger, which was documented in my photo essay, “25 Apartments,” that Michael Solender was kind enough to publish at not from here are you? So, as I was trying to pin down which place it was in the dream, it hit me. Over this past summer, I wrote a novella and this was the protagonist’s apartment, one I have never physically visited. I thought that was interesting.

Picasso revolutionised the art world by fracturing the perspective we have of what we see as reality. To what extent do you think it is necessary for artists to alter the nature of reality and invite the reader or viewer across the threshold?

It’s difficult for me to accept the concept of Reality with a capital “R.” I see the world as comprised of many, many little realities. We all filter the world through our particular perspectives. As an artist, I try to translate my reality through my photographs and stories. Naturally, I welcome the viewer or reader to explore these creations of mine, but I would continue to create them even if I was certain they would never be seen or read. Further, I would persist and strive to improve my work. My goal as an artist is to constantly grow- hopefully always becoming a better photographer and writer. This is my greatest wish. Jim Chandler wrote, “A poet’s only as good as his last poem.” I believe this applies to all artists. You cannot be stagnant; you are only as good as your last work, regardless of medium.

I also believe an artist isn’t necessarily required to work in an artistic field. The plumber, secretary, banker, quarterback, doctor, carpenter, etc… can be an artist if he or she elevates his or her craft or profession. This is one of the underlying points of my story, “The Painters.”

I think artists can be characterized by their vision and relentless quest for perfection. An ample level of self-confidence and ego is important; one might say necessary to continually have faith in the art when perhaps, no one else does. Yet, I feel strongly this side should remain private. Humility should be retained as it keeps the artist aware- open to inspiration and improvement.

New Orleans is prominent in your photography and your writing as well. Would you consider moving to another city? If yes, where and why?

Unfortunately, New Orleans is geographically vulnerable. With a questionable levee protection system and diminishing wetlands, it would be easy to focus on the collective anxiety of this city’s inhabitants during hurricane season. I could relay the fear of the city being underwater permanently, but I’d rather speak of the positive. People live in New Orleans because they love this city. It is an understatement to call it unique. New Orleanians who stayed or returned after Hurricane Katrina appreciate the culture even more. Much like death’s threat reminds us of life’s value, we embrace our lifestyle knowing its perishability. So, you never know.

If I had to choose another city, I would pick Paris. I visited at an impressionable age and it made quite the impression. The architectural beauty reminded me of New Orleans. The 1920s is a decade which has attracted me since childhood. Along with the Algonquin Round Table writers in New York like Dorothy Parker, Robert Benchley, and Edna Ferber, the literary expatriates in Paris, such as F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ernest Hemingway, Langston Hughes, and Gertrude Stein have been of great interest to me. And I am reminded of the fantastic Josephine Baker. Reading and viewing the photographs in the book, Kiki’s Paris: Artists and Lovers 1900-1930, I found the Paris inhabited by Man Ray, Kiki, and their many artist friends extremely captivating. Then, of course, there are all those beloved, indelible images of Cartier-Bresson’s Paris.

Ah, it seems we have come full circle. Many thanks for your time and hospitality.

Kristin thank you for giving a profoundly insightful interview.

Additional links:  Kristin’s website and blog.