Both looked comely, clean and spare, but both were carriers of the dreaded Q&A interview. Unless judiciously edited, transcripts are like raw broccoli - why make me chew through unprocessed streams of consciousness?
Still, the designers I know don't care - they want pictorial inspiration. Words are superfluous. Threaded seems to know this: one sly text was an interview between designers panicked about what should go in the text.
Another purchase was the near-wordless "Untitled" issue of Freerange, from Unity bookshop ($14). Freerange is an "Aotearoa, Atlantis, Australia" collaboration, about "the city, design, politics and pirates". It's alt-smart; I like it. "Untitled" includes a drawing by Kerry Lennon entitled Liberty Riot, of the Statue of Liberty in the sort of balaclava favoured by a certain Russian punk outfit. I later downloaded the wordy "Commons" issue from the Freerange website for free.
More oddly, I also enjoyed my last buy: Flint & Steel (vol 1, $13.95). The theme "belonging and national identity" was a bit naff but I was relieved to find a magazine unfashionably targeting a local audience.
In spite of the cold, hard name, I didn't realise it was an annual from conservative thinktank the Maxim Institute until I got home. It gave me a good exercise in critical reading. Surprisingly, many deeply considered pieces gave me food for thought, and one contributor was a Green Party worker. But there was no Maori point of view, and slipped in near the back was a piece by a British neo-liberal who used "integration" like it meant "assimilation".
There were also, groan, two large photos of fish 'n' chips. Couldn't designers and writers join forces? Threaded Flint & Steel has a certain ring.