Aurealis #182
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Aurealis #182 has fantastic fiction, amazing articles, great non-fiction and our famous artwork!
- From the Cloud — Stephen Higgins
- Land of the Long Black Cloud — Anthony Roberts
- Ashes to Ashes — Aggie Novak
- The House of Spirits — Iseult Murphy
- Your Number One Fan — Gabriella Campbell
From the Cloud
Stephen Higgins
Last issue I discussed the genre of space rock. I remember saying that there were far too many different bands and artists that produce music that could be described as space rock. Of course, there are also the genres of psychedelic rock, art rock, progressive rock etc. These all contain aspects of space rock and there is an element of cross fertilisation among all of these genres and subgenres, and that is without mentioning heavy rock, heavy metal and just plain rock! Except, of course, I did just mention them.
I discovered a YouTube channel (@outlawbookselleroriginal) presented by Stephen E Andrews. This man knows his stuff regarding science fiction, bookselling and everything related. He points out that the reason for the close association between science fiction and rock music was that they both ‘grew up’ at the same time. Both entered an experimental period around the same time in the 60s. Both SF and music developed subgenres, links to popular culture and an audience around the same time.
So, where are space-flavoured rock music and science fiction at now? Where are they going? To be honest, I’m not well versed in current music trends. Oh, I listen to music being written and produced currently. Hell, I even produce my own! But my music and the music I enjoy has its roots firmly in the 1970s. I was fortunate enough to see a favourite band last week. I have been listening to Tangerine Dream seriously for about three years. I’d heard them back in the 70s but I didn’t really get into them. The Tangerine Dream I saw has none of the original members. That doesn’t particularly worry me as they produce recognisably Tangerine Dream music. The members were all known to the last surviving original member, Edgar Froese, and they have continued to use the name of the band with his blessing.
Many people see this sort of thing as being tantamount to seeing a cover band. I disagree. They are still producing new music. Besides, no one would complain if they went to see the London Symphony Orchestra and then discovered that there were no original members in the band. The crucial difference is that Tangerine Dream are now producing exciting, new music. Indeed, many people feel that this iteration of the band is more cutting edge than the Tangerine Dream of the 80s and 90s and that they have accessed the muse that guided those 70s albums from the band.
Rock music changed and matured as it acquired influences from the counter cultures of the 60s, the technological advances of the 80s and 90s and you can also throw in a few influences like punk, techno and rap. So, what is the big influence that’s going to influence the development of rock and science fiction from now on? Well, I hate to say but… AI.
AI is already producing music and manuscripts. Okay, they’re not overly good, but the fear is that soon they will be indistinguishable from human creators. Except for one thing. Innovation. There is already a sea of AI slop in the fields of illustration and advertising. Soon, the only thing that will stand out from a sea of mediocrity will be the music and stories that are ‘out there’. AI can only build on what has gone before.
Yes, a clever AI user could come up with innovative prompts for AI to work with, but sustained and worthwhile work will have that innovative element that comes from the struggling artist. And, let’s face it, artists are really struggling at the moment. Their day will come again.
All the best from the cloud!
Stephen Higgins
From Land of the Long Black Cloud by Anthony Roberts:
‘AMBUSH!’ shouted Captain Wu as he came running towards the HMS Shanghai, ‘IT’S AN AMBUSH!’
Dr Ling Zhihao turned to give the command to cast off lines but her comrades had already done so. She raised her weapon to her shoulder and slid the safety off.
Behind the captain were two other crew members, Mr Li Kao, who was limping and holding his side, and Mr Kao’s 12-year-old son, Xin, who had turned and dropped to a knee before firing several short bursts at their pursuers.
Dr Zhihao pulled the trigger on her AK-47 and felt it buckle as the rounds spat from its barrel. Three of the charging horde dropped and were immediately trampled underfoot by the rest of the rushing mob.
The boy, Xin, kept firing until his magazine was empty. More of the horde fell, but the ravagers kept coming. Xin rose to follow his father and Captain Wu, but as he turned, a spear flew towards him and slammed into the back of his head killing him instantly. Another spear caught his father between the shoulder blades and dropped him not far from his fallen son.
From Ashes to Ashes by Aggie Novak:
The abandoned rubber factory on Naberezhnaya Obvodnovo Kanala is beautiful in the unsettling, nostalgic way of forgotten things. It had been one of Vika’s favourite places to photograph, back when they first met. Ruinenlust, she’d called it. Her obsession with ruins that often found them climbing up crumbled walls, ducking through shattered windows and wading through weeds in pursuit of that perfect shot.
Being here alone, without Vika, makes Ludmila’s chest burn hot and tight. It’s all wrong. The beauty, the eerie comfort, turned into something raw and painful, digging sharp claws into an open wound.
From The House of Spirits by Iseult Murphy:
I knew the humans were lying to me, but I logged their dishonesty because of shame. Admitting to the possibility of spirits was enough to get individuals shunned by their peer group. Openly professing belief had cost livelihoods.
The Websters had not said they believed in a spirit world, but the fact they had sought me out because of my studies of spiritualism showed that they would countenance the matter.
‘Find her for us, Mister Durning.’
Mister Webster was a man of uncertain age, genetically and cybernetically enhanced to resemble a celebrity from some years ago, perpetually frozen in the prime of life.
From Your Number One Fan by Gabriella Campbell:
They asked Marta about the dead child. There’d been a bookfall; they always seemed most concerned after a bookfall.
Bibles and encyclopedias had poured down; incunabula and tour guides, palimpsests, illuminated manuscripts and fasciculi darkened the skies. The cleaning crew was up and running. Their machine, an ancient snowplough, gathered the trodden copies. There wasn’t much left, just the pulped remains of unwanted books; young apprentices, bored pensioners and all those other specimens who really loved to learn had been and gone.
