Build Our Coordinates of Resistance: Launching The Music Tourist Board
The venue is a lung.
It is a carnal architecture of damp plaster and beer-soaked floorboards where the air tastes of iron and cheap electricity. We have spent too long in the waiting rooms of the industry, gasping for space in a city that treats culture like a spreadsheet. Today, we officially launch the Music Tourist Board. This is the end of the passive consumer and the beginning of the radical cartographer.
The environment is fertile.
It is a compost of sweat and subversion where the noise grows thick and wild. This is not a hobby. This is the spatial politics of survival. For all of us Zeenagers, the dispossessed youth whose inheritance is a city of glass and debt, the geography of the underground has always been a shifting and precarious thing. We use this term not as a branding quirk but as a reclamation of the street's lineage. To be a Zeenager is to be a part of the historical resilience of the playing class. It is to exist in the spaces the developers forgot to pave over. Today, we all get to reclaim the map.
We have built an interactive digital map of the circuit. This is a tool for the bands starting and the veterans staying out. It is a space where Zeenagers can let each other know which venues are sanctuaries and which are merely cold rooms for profit. It is a ledger of the saints and the sinners. You will find the promoters worth your blood and the ones you must avoid like a fever. We are ending the era of being burned by the vultures of the industry. This is collective intelligence designed to protect the artist from the predatory mechanics of the corporate machine.
For the fans, the map is a guide to safe passage. We are marking the venues that look out for women, the ones that ensure disability access is not an afterthought, and the bars where the prices won't bleed you dry. The stage is a black mouth with teeth of monitors and tangled leads. It is a white light surgery where we bleed in rhythm and the floorboards groan like a birthing bed. We are no longer wandering blindly through the ruins. We are building a sanctuary for the vulnerable and the loud.
Click below to see the interactive map grow:
This is the official topography of the loud. The Music Tourist Board (MTB) maps the ribcage of the city before the beige ghosts of gentrification hollow it out for good. We identify the fertile environments where the underground still breathes—separating the stewards who protect the pulse from the speculators who bleed it dry. No corporate filters. No standardised asphyxiation. Just the raw intelligence of the noise. Verify the vibe. Protect the underground.
Keep your eyes on the street. The Chaos Twins and Caffy are moving through the shadows. We are placing MTB-Recommended stickers on the doors of the venues that earn the ZineUK stamp of recommendation. These are the marks of the resistance. These are signs that say, "Here you can play" and "Here you can dance" without being processed by the machine.
These stickers are a declaration of territory. They are a tactical marking of the circuit. By identifying TheZineUK as the agents of this marking, we are pulling the localised scene into a radical narrative of reclamation. This is not just a stamp of quality. It is a boundary line.
The Music Tourist Board is the new nervous system for the underground. We are no longer asking for a seat at the table. We are mapping the room. We are naming the exploiters. We are protecting the fertile ground. The circuit is a vein, open and pulsing, a fertile rot of melody in the basement of the world where the class war has a backbeat. The map is live. The stickers are sticking. The revolution is happening in the basements, and now we have the coordinates.
Calling all Zeenagers.
The Music Tourist Board is hungry for your intelligence. To make this a living nervous system, we need the names of the saints and the silhouettes of the sinners. We are opening the ledger. This is the call for the radical gossip of the street.
Who are the promoters who treat the circuit like a fertile environment, and who are the vultures circling the stage? We want the dirt. We want the glory. Tell us who looked out for the women and the queer-folk, who respected the need for disability access, and who kept the pint prices pocket-friendly.
Conversely, tell us who to avoid like a fever. Who promised the moon and delivered a broken monitor? Who ‘forgot' the door split? Who left you bleeding in the cold?
The Chaos Twins and Caffy are sharpening their stickers and waiting for your coordinates. This is the collective intelligence of the dispossessed. Don't let the exploiters operate in the shadows. Spill the ink and help us map the resistance. Send your intelligence to the MTB, and let’s name the architects of the sanctuary. We are building a wall of noise, and we need to know who is trying to dampen the sound.
Email us with the know-how:[Here]