In Memory of Ian C. Stewart

by Bryan Baker, GAJOOB / Tapegerm

I first got to know Ian Stewart through his AutoReverse zine. The music reviews were insightful, sharp, and full of deep, genuine passion for the strange and beautiful sounds emerging from the cassette underground and experimental edges of indie music. Ian had a way of zeroing in on the intent behind a recording, no matter how raw or obscure, and giving it the attention it deserved. It was clear he wasn’t just writing about music—he was in love with it. He didn’t hesitate to skewer sensitive artists either.

Like me, he worked at a PrintShop which helped by way of having access to printing tools. That connection might seem small, but if you’ve ever spent late nights in a self-service print shop surrounded by zines, flyers, and early CD artwork, you know what kind of community that work nurtured. It wasn’t just about pushing buttons—it was about enabling other artists, sharing tools, and living creatively, even in the middle of a corporate chain store.

Ian was the person who pulled me into the world of loops.

Sometime around the early 2000s, he put out a call for remixers. I answered, and in the mail came a CD filled with loop material from one of his projects. The idea was simple: take the loops, make your own thing. It felt raw and open, a sort of experimental gift.

I created a track called “Fuck Television”—a personal rebellion through sound collage—and something clicked. This wasn’t just about remixing. It was about shared vocabulary and transformation.

That moment became a seed.

Inspired by Ian’s approach, I put out my own open call for remixers on HomemadeMusic.com. This time I gathered loops from a few cassette albums like Linda Smith, Baneemy and others. People responded with loops of their own. Artists started remixing each other. A community formed, and that project eventually grew into Tapegerm, a collective built around collaborative loop exchange and perpetual audio evolution.

That’s the kind of impact Ian had. Quiet, direct, and powerful. He gave people a reason to try something new and a way to belong in the ever-morphing ecosystem of DIY music.

His loss, as noted beautifully on the Vuzh Music blog, is felt deeply. He was a connector—someone who made space for others to make noise, and for that noise to mean something.