With my nick signed, sealed and delivered, it became time to progress to the next stage of my journey. Arguably, this was even more crucial than the first to my hopes of success: I needed to create a democrew. Forming an appropriately bonded and suitably named democrew is a key moment - where brand identity begins to take shape, courtesy of the fusion of core values and mission with external indicators of aesthetic.
Across the rich history of the demoscene there have been literally tens of millions of democrews spanning hundreds of thousands of platforms. Each of such groups has developed its own unique USP and mission. As with the process of choosing a nick, there of course are a plethora of ways in which a poor choice in the present could result in catastrophic downstream issues. For instance, most demo-competition results are principally driven by the names of the crews involved: so-called "namevoting". And if you want to be nominated for a demoscene award, you may as well forget it - unless you just happen to be in the right crew, with the right name.
The complexity does not end there. Ideally, a crew must also have a memorable pixel-art logo. Logos are regarded as so important in the demoscene that groups will typically transport a full range of logo-adorned merchandise to demoparties, potentially including t-shirts, windbreakers, mugs and key fobs. Logos even have their own unique and quirky following away from demos themselves on specialist websites such as the Demoscene Logo Gallery. There have even been cases of groups forming who consist of nothing but a logo, without even any actual members. I provide some examples below to illustrate the aesthetic; thanks to my main man Stranger/HMD^DLG^RBG for supplying these examples of classic Atari democrew logos.
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| "The Lost Boys of London": Atari ST, 1987 |
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| "TEXT of The Union": Atari ST, 1983 |
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| "John Fashanu's External Meatus": Atari STe, 1994 |
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| "We Are Men": Atari ST, 2025 |
As many will identify with, I felt that I was already standing on the shoulders of giants before writing even a single line of code.
However, I had an enormous barrier in front of me in terms of further progression: I had no friends, and therefore was in fact totally unable to form a democrew. I couldn't believe that I had only just identified this problem. My heart broke; it looked like "Caulky" was already dead in the water, "his" corpse already bloating in absence of a full pop song.
Yet as it turned out, even at such a moment of great despair, I should have retained my faith in serendipity herself. What happened next was so magical it was almost like it had been crowbarred straight from a Hollywood blockbuster starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan.
One fateful morning, bleary-eyed through tears, I stepped into my local coffee house in pursuit of my usual Caramel Iced Latte (Large, with Almond Milk). The sight before me was arresting. Blinking through disbelief, I saw two men, of a similar age to me, established in the corner of the cafe. In front of them I saw what I immediately recognised to be an 1989 TOS1.06 model Atari STe - in relatively good condition no less, albeit with slight superficial yellowing to its plastic and some evidence of several missing screws from its underbelly.
My eyes soaked up what was before me. From the lithe wrist movements of he to stage right, I immediately identified that one of these chaps just had to be in the process of actively using Degas Elite, right there in front of me, without pomp, circumstance, apology or shame. Moreover, his liege to stage left sat wearing a pair of vintage over-ear headphones, and was nodding rhythmically at a tempo directly suggestive of John Lowe's Ultimate Darts by Ben Daglish (click here to listen to an online version, ripped by the legendary MUG (uk)(tm)). I couldn't believe my eyes. This was it. It was my moment; I didn't need to create a democrew, so much as simply join one manifesting right before me.
Opportunity knocks but once, so how best to approach the objects of my desires? I scampered to an opposite corner with my Caramel Iced Latte (Large, with Almond Milk), and quickly brainstormed strategic options:
(i) I could take a napkin and write the following upon it: "would you like to form an Atari democrew? Please tick 'YES', 'NO' or 'MAYBE'", before asking a waitress to pass this note to them on my behalf. I had used this technique over thirty years previous, whilst clumsily attempting to acquire a girlfriend at the age of 10. However, as the process had limited effectiveness then, I swiftly moved on.
(ii) I could accidentally spill a drink onto their STe, and then in the process of providing a bumbling "fake" apology/promise of compensation, I could stealthily collect their names, addresses, telephone numbers, and other key contact details. This tactic had the advantage of forcing these two would-be collaborators to reveal personal details about themselves directly to me. In turn, this would allow me to play a "long game", deploying a range of surveillance techniques to build an intimate picture of their lives and movements, before finally confronting them with a proposal of a democrew when I was certain they would have no choice but to accept. However, this approach had the disadvantage of taking months or even years to implement effectively, and I was unsure that my desire for an intro with a full pop song would wait that long.
(iii) I could approach them and, quite simply, get my cock out. Exposing one's genitals in a public place has the advantage of being eye-catching, thereby creating a striking first impression. The disadvantage of this tactic, of course, is its sheer illegality. Given that the demoscene has long tried to separate itself from illegal activity of any type, I felt that this would not make a positive start to my demo career. The risks were also significant: given that this was a "high stakes" situation, the probability of tumescence became greatly increased.
In the end, serendipity again stepped in to take matters gently into her own soft, reliable hands. What I hadn't quite realised was that during my strategising, I had fixed my gaze resolutely on both men for a period of over ten minutes. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this in fact motivated them to approach me. The conversation was admittedly difficut at first, but within a few minutes I had learnt that the pair already had formed a demo crew called The Nutmeg Mine, with "gold-standard" nicks (Stiffler's Mom (graphics) and Marrowfat (sampling)) already formalised. And to my utter shock, I learnt the real kicker: their crew had one simple mission, and that was to create the first Atari intro which included a full pop song - just like me.
The stars had aligned; fission had occurred; the team was in place. The electricity of possibility crackled in the air like static, and as predicted, I was already experiencing significant tumescence. But what I didn't know was that the real challenges were only about to begin...
