Denk dat meneer cope niet iets meer krautig klinkends kon vinden uit 1967quote:
quote:Today on Day 6 of the SydArthur Festival, let us salute the eloquence and robustness of Henry David Thoreau’s still-modern vision with as grand a musical hymn to the frontiersman spirit as the rock’n’roll era, surely, has yet produced: David Ackles’ incredible 1972 epic ‘The Montana Song’.
Telling the tale of a visit to his grandparents’ now-derelict home, Ackles used his big Elektra Records recording budget to hire London’s enormous IBC Studios and a huge orchestra with which to subdue and entrance his listeners. One-time producer of The Teardrop Explodes, Hugh Jones tells of how, as a young IBC tape-operator assisting in the recording of this track, he was entranced by the backwoodsman demeanour of David Ackles himself, who would every day arrive with his handwritten musical charts for the orchestra carefully piled into the back of a knapsack. None of the Elektra executives had a clue where Ackles went at night. A single listen to ‘The Montana Song’ will allow us to imagine him orchestrating by the glow of his Thames embankment campfire.
quote:It’s Day 7 of the SydArthur Festival, the New Moon, and Friday the 13th – unlucky for some. Ah, but for we rock’n’roll heathens stomping in the summer heat, dowsing our World Cup blues in the idiot dance of the moment, it’s time to summon ‘Fire Spirit’ by the Gun Club. ‘Fire Spirit’ invokes the ignis-fatuus, the foolish fire, the Kundalini-esque thrill-spirit that snaps at us and whips us in the rock’n’roll of our dervish dance. Sung and intoned by the late Jeffrey Lee Pierce, herein his low-key California hillbilly drawl never falls below the buzzsaw ramalama guitar levels of his Gun Club, despite at times barely horse-whispering his lyrics. “I will be cheating, the whole ritual!”
quote:Today on the 10th day of the SydArthur Festival, we pay our respects to the LSD-gobbling, avant-punk vocalist Alan Vega – one half of of the seismic duo Suicide. On this, still only the second anniversary of his death, let’s put ourselves in a suitably sombre mood by listening now to Suicide’s requiem ‘Che’, which closed their self-titled 1977 debut LP. Perversely but typically, Vega chose the opposite side of the fence from the general consensus – “they said you were a saint, but I know you ain’t” – yet even more perversely, invited his keyboard cohort Martin Rev to supply the same phased lounge lizard porn-organ music as he had crooned love songs of near-religious devotion perhaps just two or three tracks before this. The result is dark, claustrophobic, crypt-like and utterly the most real embodiment of all the conflicting emotions that we should feel about such a World Prometheus as Che Guevara. Bravo, Alan Vega.
quote:Happy Birthday, Roky Erickson – how we love you, here at the SydArthur Festival!
Let’s ring in this important lunar day by listening to the remarkable ‘Creature with the Atom Brain’, from Roky’s one-time comeback album THE EVIL ONE. Crack open your own melted plastic brain and mourn and swoon along to Roswell Roky in full Stardust Cowboy mode. “Creature with the atom brain, why is he acting so strange?” Brought up religious and watching too many horror movies as a child, poor Roky fell into a Jungian underworld soup not of his own making. Unlike our own dear Syd Barrett, Roky rose irregularly out of the swamps to bring forth new myths, new fears, new neuroses for this Industrial Age. But hey, when the all-pervasive Christian church destroys your every last temple, divinity and tradition, what’s left but to start all over again? Witchfinder Roky got medieval on our arse…still scared of things we climbed out of long ago. But doesn’t that fear sound good?
quote:It’s Day 8 here at the SydArthur Festival and we’re celebrating the Storming of the Bastille with something French, freedom-loving, cathartic, meta-synchronised, fetish-like and awesome in the strictest sense of the word. ‘La L´gende du Siecle’ by Magma subjects the music fan to a colossal near-Olympian display of avant-Supremes: soul music from the stars. Who would imagine that there could be such a chasm between the haphazard opportunist actions of those Bastille stormers and the Gurdjieffian precision of their freedom-practicing great-great-great grandchildren? Magma trashed General De Gaulle forever with their blazingly futuristic, ardent, post-nationalist, mixed-race, Sun Ra-attitude to a Next World Music. Watch them here in performance, and be astonished.
quote:Today on the 12th day of the SydArthur Festival, we throw our arms up to the cosmos in huge embrace of two colossal outsiders. Dearest Nico, today you sing for Hunter as well. All That Is My Own terminates your marvellous album Desert Shore. Both of you walked at the edges. Nico, you sing where land and water meet. You sing also of the borderline. They who know must pass on…meet me at the desertshore. This blessed SydArthur Festival has thrown the two of you together. What we love so much about you both has probably started some cosmic argument between the pair of you.
quote:If the inspirational heart of this deeply loving SydArthur Festival beats with the psychedelic pulse of the Ur-Ancestors, where then did those psychedelic giants themselves search for their Fountain of Knowledge? For many of those rock’n’rollers, the answer was ‘John Coltrane’. How? No amplifiers, no electric instruments, still lugging about that old wardrobe they call ‘double bass’, and yet by 1961 Coltrane was possessed of an attitude to life that would – within barely half-a-decade – become adopted by every experimental Western musician. Like Percy Shelley, Robert Graves, Henry David Thoreau before him, ‘Trane’, as John Coltrane became known, embodied the high-reaching mysticism that would come to define the ’60s and ’70s. Trane looked to the Hinduism of India, he looked to meditation, he named his son after Ravi Shankar, he looked between the musical notes and w-i-d-e-n-e-d them considerably. His endgame? “I want more of the sense of the expansion of time. I want the time to be more plastic.”
And what Coltrane’s early ’60s band brought forth acoustically, there too traipsed the psychedelic bands of five years hence – the Grateful Dead, the Jefferson Airplane, etc – but now played on loud electric axes. The antecedents of the Doors’ ‘Light My Fire’? Listen to the groove of McCoy Tyner’s piano and Elvin Jones’ drums on Coltrane’s version of ‘My Favorite Things’. It’s what the Doors aped when club managers insisted they extend their set in the early days. Ah, but even the guitar genius of Robbie Krieger couldn’t hide his devotion to what Coltrane’s sax whips out at 8 minutes, 31 seconds of that track. Doors producer Paul Rothschild, himself so jazz, could not resist its inclusion on the final version of ‘Light My Fire’. Trane’s reputation was rising. So by the time the Byrds recorded ‘Eight Miles High’, it was actually in Roger McGuinn’s interest to confess to his Trane-isms on the song’s unforgettable lead guitar lines. Was it Coltrane’s ‘Africa’? Or was it ‘India’? Performed by McGuinn on a strident and unwieldy electric 12-string no less: his heathen gate-crashing melody channels Coltrane’s off-kilter saxophone magnificently. Free jazz sax permeated performances of the MC5, whose singer named himself after Coltrane’s pianist. Side two of Patti Smith’s Radio Ethiopia lambasted punks with Coltranean free rock.
When in summer 1982 the Teardrop Explodes passed through San Francisco’s airport, their entourage was approached by members of the Church of John Coltrane, who spoke so lovingly of their divine mentor that three of the band’s five members bought Coltrane t-shirts inscribed ‘Damn The Rules!’ The man himself would surely have approved; interviewed in the early ’60s, Coltrane openly declared his wish to be canonised within 15 years of his death.
quote:Day 13 here at the SydArthur Festival. Let’s take advantage of that mysterious number to unleash a right old pagan onslaught in the form of ‘Raider’. Never off our turntable since 1981, this slab of supercool West Coast barn-dance was a product of the mighty union of two underground stars. Judy Henske was managed by Zappa manager Herb Cohen and a longtime protege of Mr Elektra, Jac Holzman. Teaming up with arranger/guitarist/multi-instrumentalist Jerry Yester, best known for his orchestral work on Tim Buckley’s GOODBYE AND HELLO, the resulting album FAREWELL ALDEBARAN was released on Zappa’s Straight label. Although too eclectic to really showcase the depth of Judy’s amazing voice, the album still reaches several high points – the monolithic gravel blues of ‘Snowblind’ sounds like Sabbath playing the Plastic Ono Band, while ‘Raider’, today’s choice du jour, is the kind of rustic knees-up that would make Neil Young proud.
quote:Today on Day 14 of the SydArthur Festival, we pay homage to Grandmaster Moebius who passed on three years ago, leaving us with a huge trail of evident musical genius. Difficult though it is to pick one tune to represent M, let’s strike an obvious pose by lending an ear now to ‘Watussi’ – the cyclical, emblematic opening of Harmonia’s debut LP. Brimming over an foaming at the gils with inner beats, outer beats, static beats, pedestrian beats, ‘Watussi’ brilliantly sums up its three protagonists but most of all – for our purposes herein – showcases the impish Moebius at his foppish, glorious peak. But then again, who else in 70s Krautland would have dared portray himself as the co-habitee of his cohort, as did Moebius with Roedelius on the cover of ZUCKERZEIT? As Dennis Alcapone would say, “onwards ever, backwards never!” We love you, Moebius.