Call Me Mr. Jones

I don’t get it.

Dandercroft, a sporadic ‘zine covering Kansas City’s music scene, has baffled me since its inception. I’ve never known what the Sam Hill is going on in its pages. And I love it.

Sure, I'm familiar with most of the featured artists. I even like a handful of them. But the outlandish coverage makes it difficult to distinguish between intentional experimentation and just plain poor effort. I’m sure that Dandercroft’s mastermind John Bersuch encourages his contributors to reflect the essence of their subject matter. On my scoreboard, it works about half the time.

The latest issue, #6, is currently available at shops and bars throughout midtown. It’s 68 pages of chemically imbalanced gonzo journalism, inspired equally by Charles Bukowski and Looney Tunes.

Highlights include a hilarious look back at Banshee, an amusing portrait of Bacon Shoe, two essays by blogger Greg Beck, and a musical autobiography from Keanon Liggatt. It’s also good to see a profile of Howard Iceberg. He’s a character straight out of a hard-boiled detective novel.

Self-indulgent and myopic by definition, Dandercroft still manages to convince several business to advertise. Balanca’s, the Hurricane and its new nemesis, The Record Bar, took out full page ads, as did local record labels Second Nature and Anodyne. Previous issues of Dandercroft came with a free CD. It’s missed, but with the widespread acceptance of MySpace and PureVolume, it’s no longer necessary.

I’m enthused by the state of the indie rock scene in Kansas City. And I’m glad that Dandercroft exists to celebrate it. In lieu of a CD in the next issue, maybe Bersuch will consider including a bag of chemicals, or at least a cookbook, that will allow readers to maximize their reading experience.