The New York Review of Magazines

Fader

By Tom Meagher

IN New York City’s downtown social circles, “Williamsburg” and “L-train” have become code words to describe the young, relentlessly fashionable trendsetters who have colonized the gentrified North Brooklyn neighborhood and commandeered its subway line. Since its debut five years ago, the Fader has emerged as the L-train of magazines, taking its readers to the cutting edge of indie rock, hip-hop music and fashion. Like the much-discussed Williamsburg denizens, the magazine can be patronizing and solipsistic, but its allure lies in its style, energy and bravado.

The Manhattan-based bimonthly took its name from the vital equipment of hip-hop disc jockeys, the switch that allows them to play from two turntables at the same time. The Fader’s staff, however, looks beyond that narrow focus.

“Rock culture sort of exploded, and we found ourselves immersed in that,” said Knox Robinson, the editor-in-chief. “We’re trying to perceive the changing dynamic in rock culture.”

Robinson, who at 29 was promoted this winter to run the magazine, believes the Fader and its readers are concerned with more than just the coolest, most esoteric bands the city has to offer. “We use music as an excuse to look at various nuances in culture around the world,” he said. “Sometimes I say it’s a little ‘zine. That’s what we really try to do with it. It’s a ‘zine with amazing photography and paper quality.”

The magazine’s intent is to offer a casual, intimate read for the style-conscious and those whose tastes are too obscure or too elite to find anything of interest in the mainstream music magazines. For the rap and rock aficionados who consider themselves truly fashionable, magazines like Rolling Stone and Spin have approached complete obsolescence. The hip eschew them in favor of the Fader and its peers such as Tokion, Nylon and England’s The Face.

Like its readers, the Fader’s writers definitely believe they are into what’s good. Their articles read the way Robinson talks. They sound smug, sarcastic and condescending, but they have the sort of insider knowledge and good old-fashioned chutzpah that make you respect them. They are filled with the glib, self-referential wit that passes for insight in most music magazines. It may not be philosophical, but it is often funny.

In the December/January issue, an article hyping Loretta Lynn as the next best-selling country artist provides the perfect example: “The drink is Pabst, trucker hats are required, Johnny Cash records are essential and cowboy boots just look so hot with your Gloria Vanderbilt denim mini-skirt that there is no way they can be resisted,” Miguel Banuelos wrote. “But rest assured, after it’s all said and done, Loretta Lynn will outlast all of the outfits, the hairdos, and all of the insincerity.”

The real draw of the magazine is its visual flair. It initially caught my eye with its covers. Unlike most magazines, where the back is coveted advertising real estate, the Fader reserves both of its covers for the music and artists it champions. Every issue showcases different musicians, from Beck to Outkast to Joe Strummer, on the front and back.

It gives nearly as much space to fashion, art and photography as it devotes to music. Robinson said the goal has always been to capture the reader with the kind of dramatic layouts and photography that the mainstream titles don’t offer. The use of fashion spreads, including one recent shoot inside an L-train, helps break the monotony that could settle into a 192-page magazine. The photography informs the larger visual aesthetic of the magazine. A portfolio of partygoers in Mali, another of Northern Alliance guerillas in Afghanistan and a third of time-lapse photos of the streetlights of New York show how wide the magazine’s lens can be.

The fact that the magazine’s readers comprise an educated, cosmopolitan, artistic clique betrays its greatest weakness, though. Like many struggling rock bands, the Fader believes that it carries far more influence and import than it actually does. I’d wager most of its readers believe the same thing about themselves. But while such strut and swagger would be off-putting in an older magazine, the Fader can get away with it. The brash ego of youth is infectious in spite of itself.

The Fader ultimately succeeds in informing and entertaining the music-minded culture hound. It has the right mix of visual panache and ultra-hip condescension, and it forcefully exudes an air of authority. Here’s almost all you need to know to impress the other straphangers on the L-train.