Outer Order Media

CREASE MAGAZINE // October 1993 Buzz Drainpipe, Contributor // Page 42, beneath the fold Buzz Drainpipe deconstructs three fallen idols of radio royalty in a world too dumb to listen. In 1993, we're told the revolution will be televised—flannelized, commodified, buzz clipped and fed back to us as "authentic." But before this Gen-X grievance pageant came to town, three men already knew how it felt to be kings of the moment and ghosts of the charts. Dwight Twilley. Leo Sayer. Billy Squier. Three names, three eras, three stylistic solar flares eclipsed by the moon of misunderstanding. They didn’t fizzle out—they were snuffed . TWILLEY: Rock n Roll’s Phantom Limbo Kid He sang like an Oklahoma Presley caught in an analog web of jangle and echo. Looking for the Magic wasn’t just a track—it was a thesis on pop’s cruel denial of permanence. Twilley played like the radio was still holy and your bedroom still mattered. The Dwight Twilley Band should have ...

by Dominique Ferrier, for Le Cahier Noir, Spring 1998 When the suitcase was unzipped in Strasbourg in 1993, the literary world barely noticed. Another set of mold-soft pages, another forgotten manuscript from a minor Parisian essayist—no one expected to find inside the most structurally unsound and emotionally precise novel the twentieth century never quite published. The Corridor Without Doors, long believed to be apocryphal, was known only through whispers, references in correspondence, and the wine-stained recollections of jazz flautist Vic Blackwing. For decades, Duvant’s reputation hinged on his minor essays—philosophical miniatures exploring solitude, ritual, and memory in the Parisian margins. That he might have written a 7,000-page novel—and one so sprawling, so recursive, so exhaustingly sincere—seemed absurd. But the Corridor exists. And it is relentless. Architecture as Absence To read The Corridor Without Doors is to submit oneself to a literary architecture tha...

METAL MESSIAHS #5: SAVAGE – LOOSE 'N LETHAL Buzz Drainpipe, The Discarded I “This wasn’t just NWOBHM—it was a warning shot to the thrash gods.” By 1983, the New Wave of British Heavy Metal was splintering—some bands going slick, others going speed, and a few, like Savage, dropping napalm on both directions and choosing pure combustion . Their debut album Loose 'n Lethal didn’t ask for your attention—it punched through your denim jacket and took it . While Metallica were still studying Diamond Head riffs in Ron McGovney’s garage, Savage unleashed something rawer, meaner, and more prophetic. Loose 'n Lethal is the Rosetta Stone between NWOBHM and thrash metal. It’s the kind of record that feels like it was recorded in a furnace by chain-smoking mechanics with nothing to lose and too much speed in their blood. ⚙️ The Sound: Chrome-Plated Fury Opener “Let It Loose” lives up to its name—an absolute explosion of riffage and punk aggression that reportedly left teenage...