Sarah Fakray has written an article about the Offbeats ("Tell It Like It Is: The Offbeats") in the November issue of Dazed & Confused:

Disillusioned with the mainstream publishing industry, the Offbeats write uncensored stories on their own terms.

"It is time for the new literary revolution," demands Offbeat member Adelle Stripe. "Offbeat" describes a group of writers overlooked by market-led publishers, who became aware of each other after appearing on short story websites. "We all write what has erroneously been called 'underground' fiction," says member Ben Myers. "This overlooks the fact that there is a lot of tenderness and hope in our work — work which, on the surface, may appear to be scabrous, pornographic or malevolent."

"Penguin would never touch any of us lot with a bargepole," says Stripe. "There is no way that we would 're-write' it or change the story just because the publisher says so. We would light a banger under their desks and piss in their filing cabinets." Myers adds, "I didn't become a writer to sniff bad coke off Bloomsbury porcelain, I write because I need to expel the detritus that festers within me." To this end, 3:AM Magazine's Andrew Gallix has just finished putting together an anthology of key Offbeat writers' short stories. "The movement is about to go overground," he explains. "The literary equivalent of the 1976 punk festival at the 100 Club."

Degeneration X: Tales From the Offbeat Generation will soon be published by Social Disease.

Prominent write-ups in Time Out, and enthusiastic notices from publications like The Village Voice and Gawker (a website more normally suited to reporting on the color of Lindsay Lohan's pubic hair, or the latest Britney meltdown) have created something of a buzz about tonight's reading [September 14th 2007]. It seems that the KGB is becoming something of a home away from home for the so-called "Offbeat Generation". Tonight's event is tinged with the air of expectation.

[From L to R: Tao Lin, Tony O&8217;Neill and Vanessa O&8217;Neill]

The KGB itself is an unassuming bar in Manhattan&8217;s Lower East Side, and has seen a virtual who's who of literary talent read from its podium. Tonight we have Donari Braxton, Tao Lin and Tony O'Neill — as diverse a bunch of writers as it would seem to be possible within the confines of the same 'generation'.

The vibe is different from most other literary events. For a start, there is a lot of jostling for position by the crowd who all seem to be eager to find a spot close to the stage. For another, there is almost as much activity in the bathrooms as there is in the main room. By the time I arrive at 7.30 the place is pretty much full, and a few people have already left in disgust because of the crowd and the fact that the event is running behind schedule. Tao Lin is sat alone, studiously avoiding the glances of and Eeee eee eeeee clutching hipsters. When one girl works up the nerve to ask him to draw a picture in her notebook, he graciously responds with a picture of a sad-looking hamster in a high chair with the legend "fucked" written across its forehead. Tony O'Neill arrives with his wife Vanessa, and a pile of poetry books in hand.

The reading is just about to begin when the imposing figure of Donari Braxton makes it to the venue. But this is not what all of the rubbernecking is about. Yoko Ono has also made an appearance, and despite attempts to keep a low profile at the back of the bar, people are whispering and sneaking glances.

Tao Lin reads first. His piece is called "Haley Joel Osment and Dekota Fanning," and it is delivered in Lin's characteristic monotone. I have seen Lin read on a number of occasions, and the crowd reaction is usually either complete adoration, or outright hostility. There is no middle ground. His neutral face expression and demeanor (that of a man frozen either by stage fright or existential dread) are of course deliberate: Lin presents his work stripped of all attempts at "performance" or affectation. Like his poems and his prose, Lin's stage persona is all about the frozen moments in between the 'big' moments: boredom, ennui, and awkward pauses. Yet somehow it works. Once you are sucked into his rhythm Lin becomes hypnotic, and you start to notice the carefully constructed prose, the writing free of all pretensions, as hard and polished as a glass-topped table. Hipsters seem to like Tao Lin, but his writing is the antithesis of hipsterism — it is a reflection of our own vacuous society, a mirror held up to the blank face of American culture.

After Lin finishes, the applause is warm. In Donari Braxton (pictured above), we have a reader who may actually be the exact opposite of Tao Lin. His voice is resonant, and sonorous. This is in perfect keeping with his writing, which is complex, layered and harkens back to another era in writing, an era of long flowing sentences, of dark imagery and allusion. The stories he reads are complex and insanely well crafted. His voice lilts, effects accents, and has the power and control of a Shakespearian actor. The entire audience is spellbound by the performance, and Braxton seems altered, transported by his won performance. "To the Veldt" originally appeared in Scarecrow, and Lee Rourke&8217;s literary magazine is given a shout out. In my notebook, while trying to describe Braxton, the best I could come up with was: "Edgar Allan Poe and Samuel Beckett????" but I don't think even that comes close.

O'Neill reads from his new book, the poetry collection Songs From the Shooting Gallery. I buy a copy tonight, but I have already read a lot of his work online. All three writers are what you would term "internet writers", and have the kind of audience that 15 years ago would be hard to imagine without having a major publishing deal. O'Neill's reading is relaxed and loose, and the room is silent as the crowd strains to pick up every inflection of his English accent. He is funnier than I expected. I'm not sure what I expected having read his stuff, but the writing gives the impression of a very dark, troubled individual. But the black humor in his poems becomes more obvious when you hear him read his own work. He randomly tears into the new collection. "Do you want to hear a poem about shit?" he asks, "Because you know I tackle all the big subjects. Mortality and shit." The shit poem ("Bathroom Revelation") has the room alternating laughter and disgusted groans. I wonder if it is the first ever poetic ode to junkie constipation. The poems touch upon love ("Vanessa"), suicide, ("1319 iris Circle Number 3"), fatherhood ("13-10-03") and of course O'Neill's obsession and muse, heroin ("A Song From the Shooting Gallery", "Johnnies Coffee Shop"). He introduces the poem "America, A Love Letter" with the admission "Wilde said that talent borrows and genius steals…. So here is one I stole from Allen Ginsberg."

Afterwards I got a chance to talk with the three readers for a moment as they signed books for fans. I asked them what they thought of the term "The Offbeat generation" or what it was that even connected them stylistically. The consensus seemed to by that they had little — or nothing — in common when it came to their style. The uniting force — as well as their ages and tremendous talents — was a sense that literature itself was &8220;stuck" at the moment, and needed (as Lin put it) a "new beginning". All of the writers here are on independents — Lin has a lifelong deal with Melville House ("I intend to publish my shopping list one day" he tells me, deadpan), Braxton's collection I and his forthcoming Book of Second Childhoods are on Slow Toe, while O'Neill has books out on no less that 4 independents. (He also told me that his new book is coming out next year on St Martins Press, a quirk that will see him sharing a publisher with JG Ballard.)

As the place started to empty, I noticed Yoko Ono waiting to talk to the readers. I said my goodbyes, and left the readers and Ono talking about Fluxus, the Offbeats and Ono's album Season Of Glass. Next week, Tom McCarthy will be performing in the city. It's certainly an exciting time in NYC to be a reader.

New York's KGB Bar has put on an Offbeat night entitled The In Sound From Way Out:

3 of NYC's leading underground authors come together for one night only to read selections from their work. Feted by the likes of Dennis Cooper, Miranda July and Dan Fante, Donari Braxton (pictured), Tao Lin and Tony O'Neill are sure to provide fireworks, electrifying readings and maybe some broken teeth.

Donari Braxton is the author of numerous works of fiction, poetry, and hybrid worksof drama, prose, and poetry. His fiction and essays have been widely anthologized in the UK and in the US, and his first collection of short-stories, I, will be succeeded in 2008 by a second collection titled Book of Second Childhoods. Presently he is preparing a novel and continues to contribute to various art, fashion and design publications based in LA and in New York City, where he currently lives.

Tao Lin is the author of a novel, Eeeee Eee Eee (Melville house, May 2007), a story-collection, Bed (Melville House, May 2007), and a poetry collection, You Are A Little Bit Happier Than I Am (Action Books, November 2006). He lives in Brooklyn.

Tony O'Neill is the author of Digging the Vein (Contemporary Press), Seizure Wetdreams (Social Disease) and Songs from the Shooting Gallery (Burning Shore Press). His work has appeared in The Guardian, 3:AM Magazine, Dogmatika and Savage Kick. He lives in Queens.

In related news, Tao Lin appears in the latest issue of Esquire and Tony O'Neill has just written a blog entry on Clarence Cooper Jr. for the Guardian.

There's a great interview with Tony O'Neill in Gothamist:

"The only way to stop people from getting high is to make society so great, so perfect, that the idea of getting high would be silly. To make life so wonderful for ordinary people that they don't feel the need to smoke crack until their eyes bleed. But of course, instead of a noble idea that that, we've decided to take people who have a medical problem, criminalize them, and lock them up. Freedom is a mental thing. When you are high enough that you aren't hungry anymore, you are free. When you are high enough that seeing the president's dead-rodent face on the television doesn't make you want to smash your fist through the screen, you are free. When you are high enough that the total absurdity of our lives in this country, on this planet, is not powerful enough to drive you completely insane, then you are free. When you live completely outside of the moral constraints of acceptable society, then you are truly free. The lifestyle is hard, and sometimes it will not feel like freedom, but even a man in a prison cell can be free if he is free in his head. Being free of all of the day-to-day bullshit that grinds us down in America is the best kind of freedom there is.

...It takes a lot of years, and a lot of drugs to make an addict. Lindsay Lohan can get back to me when she's dug around in her femoral vein trying to shoot dope before she can talk to me about addiction. That girl is no more an addict than she is a singer.

...Songs From The Shooting Gallery...is the most personal thing I have written. A lot of those poems were written as it was all going on. I found a lot of them in old notebooks with bloodstains on them; I mean I'd literally be cracked out in the bathroom taking notes at time.

...I would lower the rents and property prices so that people other than rich kids can move into the cool neighborhoods. I would tax the fuck out of the extremely rich and stop the poor from paying taxes. I would open up free health care clinics. I would replace the NYPD with the cast of the police academy movies. I would put William s Burroughs, Dennis Cooper and Dan Fante on the required reading list for schools. I would lower the legal drinking age to something civilized like 18. I would tear down all of those ugly NYU buildings. I would make Coney Island a historic landmark. I would ban ironic mullets and Shania Twain songs. I would improve the quality of our radio stations. Amsterdam style coffee houses replacing Starbucks. Replace the MTA's staff with friendly people. Stop anybody whose ambition it is to be a politician from entering into politics. Lou Reed for mayor of New York. All art galleries and museums subsidized by government and free admission for all..."

On 21 June, Tony will be reading with Tommy Trantino (Lock the Lock) at

Mcnally Robinson, Prince Street, NYC. On 28 June, he will be reading at a 3:AM event at the KGB Bar alongside (inter alia) Noah Cicero, Tao Lin (see our recent interview) and Ellen Kennedy. Tony's Songs From the Shooting Gallery 1999-2006 will be published by Burning Shore Press on 11 June, followed shortly by the UK edition of Digging the Vein in July (on Wrecking Ball Press).

There's also a great interview with Paul Ewen in Fridaycities:

"I first got to know my way around London by using a pub guide and by visiting the best pubs in different areas. Because I was using it so much, I sort of got into the vernacular of the pub guide, and when I started writing in these pubs I was visiting, the pub reviews became a kind of scaffolding for my stories. I do all my writing (and editing) in pubs, even if it's non pub related. I like writing after a few drinks, and I find it can put my head down in the most crowded, noisy pub and get quite a bit done. In a way my writing is a justification for spending lots of time in the pub, but I like watching older men in pubs who are simply there to think. Pubs are good places to get your head together. I am asked to leave London pubs quite often, but only because I am the last person there after closing and I want to keep writing and they want to close up. Usually I am most amenable, and it's very seldom I run around the bar shouting, YOU'LL HAVE TO CATCH ME FIRST!"

In today's Guardian Review ("From the Blogs" column), Sarah Crown quotes two Offbeat snippets:

"'I went out the other night!' says Sean at The Midnight Bell. 'It was fun. I went to a book launch for Paul Ewen's London Pub Reviews. ...They're shortish pieces, a few pages long, in which the narrator-reviewer goes to a real London pub, and then imagination and reality get into a muddle and narrator is ejected, arrested or assaulted. ...It's published by Shoes with Rockets, which is essentially Paul: he had offers from houses I like a lot, but decided to keep control. The book looks terrific. ...We're very, very far from old-school self-publishing here. There's a lot of this coming up this year. ...Social Disease is the most obvious example coming out of web world, but there are other things brewing. Small presses have been around forever, yes, but this I think is something new: costs are down, design tools are more easily available, and, if still hard work, it's all a bit more possible..."

And here's the second one:

"'If you'd have asked me one year ago if a literary scene existed and was alive and kicking...I'd have laughed at the very thought,' reflects Lee Rourke over at Scarecrow. 'But now, one year on...it seems to have happened right under our noses. ...I don't really care for names, but two seem to have emerged: the Offbeats and the Brutalists. Both these movements encompass a varied and capable horde of writers. ...Three very determined independent publishers have emerged also: Social Disease, Wrecking Ball Press, and Burning Shore Press. Each of these publishers is crucial; they take risks, they shun current trends. ...[T]his gathering of like-minded individuals, who all eschew the current trend in publishing, have acted alone. ...We have, more or less, turned our backs on the conglomerates; we ignore those vainglorious money-men. ...Long live the dissenters I say!'"

In other Offbeat news, there's a brief review of HP Tinker's The Swank Bisexual Bar of Modernity in Pulp.net:

"The first two pages of the story 'You Can Probably Guess My Trajectory' may be enough to prove that when HP Tinker is writing, all trajectories are unguessable. One thing you can be fairly certain of, and that is, in whichever direction the narrative suddenly veers, famous people from the past and present are fairly likely to materialise. Thus, in a surreal channel-hopping daze, it is possible to witness the arrival and swift departure of Wagner, Lewis Carroll, Jay MacInerney, Max Ernst, Magritte, Brett Easton Ellis, Aldous Huxley, Paul Gauguin, Simone de Beauvoir, Tom Paulin, Thomas Pynchon, Robin Williams, and Ezra Pound, all pirouetting against a backdrop of the author's sleeve notes on minimalism, Hitler Youth, pornography, Morrissey and Britpop, among other things. A mash-up worthy of investigation." Read 3:AM's review here.