Hauntology Music, Memory, Lost Futures and the Eerie Everyday

About the Archivist

My name is Jonny Monk. I am a record collector and cinema obsessive from Oswestry, Shropshire, with a long standing interest in the strange emotional residue left behind by old media, forgotten places, public information voices, civic interiors, obsolete technology and the small rituals of ordinary British life.


This site grew out of a fascination with the way the past survives in broken signals. Not as simple nostalgia, and not as cosy retro decoration, but as a pressure in the room. A school science programme half remembered from childhood. Jazz drifting through a hotel function room when it’s closed. A public information film that still sounds certain long after its world has disappeared. A village hall. A leisure centre corridor. A faded instructional manual. A road at dusk. A voice on tape explaining something with absolute confidence.


My interests move between film, music, folk horror, old television, found sound, kitchen sink realism, Cold War unease, mod culture, British comedy, record collecting and the odd poetry of everyday systems. I am drawn to things that feel familiar and wrong in the same breath: cheerful music placed over brutality, educational television delivered with dead seriousness, domestic objects that seem to remember more than their owners do, and places where time has been renovated badly.


Hauntology, for me, is not only a theory about lost futures. It is a way of noticing. It is there in the old classroom voice that still expects obedience, the municipal carpet that has absorbed too many decades, the instructional tone of a programme no one believes in anymore, the empty corridor that feels as if it has kept its own version of events.


This site is my attempt to catalogue that afterlife. Not as an academic archive, and not as a shrine to the past, but as a field notebook for the eerie everyday. Films, records, television fragments, buildings, jokes, songs, voices and rooms are treated here as evidence. Everything leaves a trace. Some traces hum quietly. Some keep the lights on long after everyone has left.