Q Magazine was, as ex-editor David Hepworth described it, not Smash Hits as if it were written for dads – it was Smash Hits written BY dads. With an ingrained knowledge and love of music, an irreverence and spark last seen in the punk fanzine days, and such a variety of artists covered, each issue was the signpost to countless new sounds you had to immediately seek out. To get on the cover of Q was an achievement quite apart from getting the cover of Melody Maker or NME. You weren’t just someone with music worth listening to, you were an artist worth getting to know for the long-haul.

The pandemic, in truth, did little but give the magazine a gentle nudge off its perch. Mojo and Uncut covered both the scope and volume of acts Q once had the monopoly on, and it had sadly become saddled with an image of slightly TOO near the middle of the road. However, we are confident, like vinyl and, incredibly, cassettes that these mighty totems to music are simply a temporary chopping back of old wood before a new growth of fresh ideas, radical new visions and the goading of the musically great and mighty. Who doesn’t want to see an artist squirm and then finally reveal they think a pint of milk costs a fiver?

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