Cambrian Line RIP
For many years, operating under the name Cambrian Line, my ideas were rooted in a sense of place—nostalgia, world-building, and a desire to recreate a bygone moment. It was a poor carbon copy of forgotten Ceredigion fields and hills, early inductions into rave culture, train journeys and cosmic loneliness.

During the COVID lockdown, following the closure of Griessmühle and after a marginally successful show on Bristol’s Noods radio, suddenly nothing made sense any more. It was 11:00am and I was smashing out acid and jungle to a bunch of people, each locked in their own home. The clubs were all closed, the pubs all shuttered, yet documentaries about TikTok ravers and ravefluencers flooded my timeline. A lifelong passion for new and newly discovered music—and especially rave culture—was gone just like that, into the ether. A reset was needed, and so Cambrian Line had to die!

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Ghosts of My Life
In the opening chapter of Ghosts of My Life, Mark Fisher uses the final image of the British supernatural drama Sapphire & Steel as an analogy for the state of modern culture: the main characters, stuck in time, suggesting that there’s nothing new under the sun and that we find ourselves locked into a cycle of nostalgia regurgitation. He later asserts, “The internet and telecommunications technology have altered the texture of everyday experience beyond all recognition. Yet, perhaps because of all of this, there’s an increasing sense that culture has lost the ability to grasp and articulate the present.” This prognosis broke me, filling me with a cocktail of post‐rave disillusionment, serotonin depletion, and hopelessness—fuelled by club closures, rising police action against left-wing groups, and squatters—and I retreated into old punk and jungle playlists.

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Fuzzy Frontiers
Somewhere around the start of 2021, I began to see a light at the end of the tunnel; perhaps there was another assertion, one in contrast to Mark Fisher’s. Perhaps we are time travellers now. Maybe the depression stems from the notion that we are trapped in time. I began to think about the scene in 1969’s Easy Rider, where Wyatt (played by Peter Fonda) discards his watch. Time has no meaning. Perhaps the real future shock is that there is no future. Maybe we haven’t lost the ability to grasp and articulate the present, but instead we live simultaneously in the past, present and future and must learn to navigate that. The hope is that Fuzzy Frontiers will be a space—both online and offline—for the honest appreciation, creation and support of music, comics, art, philosophy and more. You won’t find negative reviews or comments here, the world is toxic enough without adding to it. I don’t wish to define it exactly, but it is, and always will be, inspired by punk and rave culture, perpetually DIY. Borders aren’t real.

Currently, Fuzzy Frontiers is a personal project, but if you feel you have something to add, I would love to speak to you. Send a mail to hallo@fuzzyfrontiers.org

Fat Pigeon† 2002-2004, Quantum Bleep† 2008-2011, Cambrian Line† 2012-2021