Count Five - Psychotic Reaction

Over, Under, Sideways, Down

Sunday music

Why Does Love Got to be So Sad? - Derek and the Dominos



~*~

Namesake of this blog, Uncle Dave's Dead Air, featured this gem last week:

The Other Side Of This Life - Jefferson Airplane



~*~

Hope you are all having a lovely sabbath too!

PS: Map of where the week starts, worldwide. (that's just the sort of Tumblr-nonsense I end up lost in, for alarmingly long periods.)

Morning Dew - Grateful Dead

(Walk Me Out in the) Morning Dew - Grateful Dead



I've been waiting for someone to post the 1967 studio version (which I don't own), and at LONG LAST, here it is. As you might guess, the live versions can run a whole day at a time. ;)

This song opened the Human Be-In in 67, and was then recorded by the Dead two months later, on their first album. (I think the sweet, childlike hope of the times really shines through on the original.)

Enjoy!

Hula Hoop art

... at the Spartanburg Music and Arts Fest yesterday. Allison Yang (and friends) made psychedelic night-art with hula hoops. Or did my camera make the art?

Whichever, it was awesome!



And I got more photos of the fest HERE!

Happy Psychedelic Spring!

Birds of Fire - Mahavishnu Orchestra

The Ballad of You & Me & Pooneil

Jefferson Airplane - The Ballad of You & Me & Pooneil



If you can figure out the time signature(s), please let me know. A lifelong puzzle!

Roger gets his space ticket

MAD MEN gets it right again.

As I have written here before, LSD was originally the (legal) property of the drawing room and the elite types who visited psychiatrists, such as Henry and Claire Booth Luce, Cary Grant, RD Laing... and Roger Sterling and his wife Jane. Hippies did not widely partake until the Merry Pranksters decided to go cross-country, playing Johnny Appleseed and distributing it throughout the heartland. And THEN it was made illegal (in 1966), in response to their nefarious scheme to Enlighten the Masses.

In fact, where do you think the first hippies came from? Guys like Roger, transformed. I am curious what will happen to Roger now; the show closed with Roger informing the ever-beleaguered Don Draper, "It's a beautiful day!"

At this point in the show, it is likely Roger will tell Don about his acid-experience and 1) try to get Don to take it, or 2) Don will be sufficiently curious (after hearing Roger's description) to try it himself. And all of that childhood-trauma of Don's? Wow, that will be hairy. Because yes, those traumas really do come back in technicolor, they weren't joking about that. I would compare it to one of those 180-degree photographs, everything momentarily frozen so that you can go back and have a full-look at it, maybe start a conversation with someone else in the frame.

From Entertainment Weekly:

I could write 3,000 words just about what happened after Roger let a sugar cube of psychedelic chemicals dissolve on his tongue. So many of Roger's hallucinations fed right back into his horn-dog Peter Pan syndrome: The half-grey-half-black hair dye ad; the Beach Boys' "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times" playing overtop a far older song I couldn't quite place; Roger cackling in the bathtub as the 1919 World Series unfolded in his head. It was a telling detail that Roger imagined Don to be his spiritual guide, but I ad0red so many of the small, silly details, too: The bombastic (possibly Russian?) opera that played after Roger uncorked a bottle of vodka; the cigarette that collapsed like an accordion the moment Roger began smoking it; the five dollar bill with Bert Cooper's face on it...

Although it never happened to me personally, paper-dollars with various faces on them was a pretty common LSD-hallucination. Also, the faces on the bills suddenly talking to you. George Washington talks! (I once got out a dollar-bill, hoping George would say something to me, but I guess money only talks to some people.)

And Roger and Jane finally get real:

Really, though, the long, strange trip was all about stripping away Roger's defenses -- his glib charm, his fragile ego -- and building up Jane's self-assurance and confidence so they could both admit to each other that their marriage was over. As Roger and Jane stared at the ceiling, the truth came gently tumbling out of them: "It's over." Their hostess wasn't Jane's friend, she was her therapist, who thinks Jane has been waiting for Roger to tell her their marriage is over so she won't have to. And although Jane's thought about having an affair, her love for Roger was real. But, Jane added, "I just know for a fact that you did not fall in love."

"So what was wrong again?" asked Roger.

"You don't like me."

"I did. I really did."

And their marriage is done.

~*~

As a lone six-year-old who had somehow blundered into the wrong place and time, I was once cornered in the doorway of an empty house by a cluster of (white female) teenage bullies. They had backed me into the proverbial corner and were slapping me, grabbing hair, kicking... all while laughing and laughing. I knew it was just the warm-up, because they were having too much fun. I was sick with fear.

I tried to say something cute, be charming or polite, all the things that had ever worked in the past; like a dog that rolls over and suddenly shows its underbelly in a fight, I was hollering uncle in a hundred ways. They correctly read my body-language of surrender and were emboldened and maliciously overjoyed by it, like a pack of wolves, circling. Exactly like that.

I turned, cupped my hand and peered through the small window on the door. "There's nobody in there," one said, threateningly. The words echoed and echoed through my psyche, and I could never remember what happened directly after. My mother said they had beaten me, but I could not remember it. Approaching that moment in my memory had always frightened me, more than the threat of nuclear weapons, more than drowning, more than snakes. I shut it down, pushed it back, thought of something else.

We all do this, and so do you.

But LSD goes straight for the house that has nobody inside (when it should have), straight for that thing you have repressed. And it can go several ways, from what I am told. But for me?

I was transported back to the sidewalk in front of the house (which I had passed many times) and saw the girls on the porch, who suddenly seemed so young. My goodness, I thought, they are only 14 or 15, aren't they? They aren't giants. They aren't adults. And as I ascended the porch stairs, one by one, they disappeared. I could never remember their faces anyway, but this made it official: they really did not exist any more. They were phantoms that had chased me. I realized, these girls had since grown up. I turned to one, just as she vanished, and asked her if she remembered. "Do you remember this?" I asked her.

She wrinkled her brow and shook her head, no. She was the blonde one, and she was the last to vanish.

I then saw my little six-year-old self, who had been beaten. I was wearing the same clothes I always remembered wearing. They had ripped my favorite shirt, with multicolored pockets on the front. I knew my grandmother (who had bought it for me) would be mad. I hoped she wouldn't be mad at me for straying too far from home, but of course, beaten or not, I thought she would be.

And then, the adult me embraced the six-year-old me. The little-me wept, while I soothed and comforted this little girl (me and not-me, all at once) and told her how strong she was for enduring this. I told her it would make her tough from this point onward, and as I said this, I realized: it had.

I told her everything would be okay, and she would grow up and the girls would vanish. Look, I said, they are gone already. I gestured, and showed her/me, that they were gone.

"They ARE gone!" the six-year-old me said, smiling through tears. Yes, they are.

And they were.

They never came back.

Here's hoping Roger fares as well. And Don, with his ghosts. They might vanish or they might return and kick his ass. It's all up to him.

Be nice to your old self; be charitable and kind to the younger-you. After all, you did the best you could.

Goodbye, Bear

Chemist of the Stratosphere, Owsley Stanley, inventor of the Stealie (without which I would have no blog logo!) has died. I can personally attest that his infamous product rocked the house, featuring (borrowing a line from Hunter Thompson) "the Universal Symphony with God singing solo and the Holy Ghost on drums"... he was also the actual "Dancing Bear" in Grateful Dead iconography, for those who didn't know. He was the subject of the Steely Dan song, Kid Charlemagne. (I wrote about him in part, here.) He died in a car crash, of all things.

Rest in peace, Bear. There is a special place in heaven with your name on it, where the music never stops.

~*~

The near-total blackout of TV-coverage about Saturday's big rally here in South Carolina has depressed me. If a thousand people rally and nobody covers it, did it make a noise?

Wait, what am I saying, near-total? I think it was, in fact, total. The print media covered the rally in a somewhat cursory fashion, and at least one TV-station announced the rally in advance. There was some sporadic coverage, which I suppose is better than none. But several of us agreed that we saw NO TV-cameras at all, throughout the event.

I noted that there were a few radio-reporters present, God bless them. In particular, I saw hip-hop radio stations and black Gospel radio stations... are these the only two factions left in the state who will people tell the truth?

Apparently.

~*~

My sincere apologies for lack of brilliance. I have simply had NO TIME to write or even get my laundry done. And my Farmville crops keep dying! :( But I must admit, I love that T-shirt at the HOT TOPIC, Nobody Cares About Your Farm, and feel strangely compelled to buy it.

I hope to provide some pithy commentary by the weekend, so stay tuned.

Meanwhile, here is a very cool song about a great chemist. :)

Kid Charlemagne - Steely Dan

Happy Mardi Gras everyone!

... and my favorite movie Mardi Gras comes courtesy of Dennis Hopper, Peter Fonda, Toni Basil and Karen Black... who I guess really did take acid at the Mardi Gras and decide to put it all in the movie.

Hey, why not?

Note: Peter (and Jane) Fonda's mother committed suicide when they were young, and that appears to be what he is talking about, whilst sitting in the lap of the Blessed Mother statue: "Why did you leave like that?" (approx 4:47 to the end of the segment.) Although you don't need to know that to enjoy the movie, it suddenly becomes a very intense scene if you do know. (Karen Black seems to be having the worst trip of the four of them, and several of her remarks are fairly harrowing, as well.)

My favorite movie acid trip! Probably because it's genuine, and I think you can easily differentiate this one from all the fakers.

Don't eat too much King Cake! We will be discussing penance and Ash Wednesday tomorrow, but today, you can indulge.

Warning, nudity, possibly NSFW.


Mardi Gras - Easy Rider (1969)

Monday Music: Brokedown Palace

Not the best version; looks odd but historically fascinating. Weird pseudo-psychedelic visuals. European or Australian TV? (Does not look familiar as a USA-based show.) Personnel, older (and generally disheveled) musical arrangement, as well as Bobby's hair suggest this was the very early 70s.

"Listen to the river sing sweet songs to rock my soul."

~*~

Brokedown Palace - Grateful Dead

John 'Marmaduke' Dawson 1945-2009

John Dawson, aka Marmaduke, of New Riders of the Purple Sage, has died of stomach cancer at age 64.



John Dawson, a founder of the New Riders of the Purple Sage, dies at 64
By Paul Liberatore
Marin Independent Journal

John "Marmaduke" Dawson, a singer-songwriter who co-founded the psychedelic country-rock band the New Riders of the Purple Sage with the Grateful Dead's Jerry Garcia, died Tuesday in Mexico after a bout with stomach cancer, the band announced. He was 64.

Mr. Dawson, who retired to Mexico in the 1990s, formed the New Riders in 1969 with Garcia, who needed a band outside of the Grateful Dead to practice his nascent pedal steel guitar playing.

Fronted by Mr. Dawson, the lead singer, the New Riders released eight albums on Columbia Records from 1971 to 1976, including "The Adventures of Panama Red," a gold record that featured Peter Rowan's pot paean "Panama Red."

As a songwriter, Mr. Dawson co-wrote the Grateful Dead classic "Friend of the Devil," as well as "Glendale Train," "Garden of Eden" and "Last Lonely Eagle" for the New Riders.

The band became a successful touring act, and in 1974 played for 50,000 fans in New York's Central Park. They shared an office on Second Street in San Rafael with another Marin band, Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen.

Saying he was weary of life on the road, Mr. Dawson retired in the late '90s. In 2001, he rejoined his former bandmates for a one-off concert at a California party, but he chose not to participate in a version of the band that regrouped in 2006 and remains active today. But he gave his blessing.

"John Dawson had a great knack for writing classic American songs," said Marin resident Rob Bleetstein, the New Riders' archivist and Web master. "A song like 'Glendale Train' could be looked at as a traditional American folk song.

"In terms of American music, the New Riders were the quintessential psychedelic country band," Bleetstein added. "In 1969, there wasn't anyone doing what they were doing. With Garcia's sound on pedal steel and Dawson's great songs and imagery, they really had something special."

Thanks to Doc Anchovy and Paul Liberatore.

Goodbye Marmaduke, we'll miss you, your tunes and your wry humor.

What I feel, I can't say, but my love is there for you anytime of day...

The Greatest Beatle of them all. From Dark Horse: The Life And Art Of George Harrison by Geoffrey Giuliano.



I think I first realized it when reading Dark Horse, the biography of my favorite Beatle. The quiet one, the spiritual one.

And on an internet message board some time ago, during the time I was reading the book, someone announced (yes, you know the drill) Christianity Uber Alles and as proof, offered the pop-culture "facts" that the Beatles and Elvis were Christian, at least until John met that awful woman. [1] I wasted no time in jumping on it: Excuse me, but George was no Christian! HANDS OFF GEORGE.

The response: Show me where George officially converted!

And of course, I could have Googled my little heart out and not found a thing... Hinduism is not like Christianity. They do not dip you in water and then announce you are one of them. They just don't do it like that. George spent considerable time in India; learned to play their holy instruments; did whatever various gurus told him to do; financed English translations of the Bhagavad Gita and named his son Dhani. Isn't that enough for you?

No, not for this guy. And I suddenly realized that our world has been MARKED by the presence of the two major religions, Islam and Christianity, the religions that commanded their followers to make believers of all nations.

The Majors, in competition with each other, have very precise rituals for conversion. It starts with an altar call, the announcement: I am a Christian, I am a Muslim. It's on the record. And then, more rituals, classes, education. In Christianity, baptism, and in Catholicism, Lutheranism, Orthodoxy, there is also Confirmation, known as Receiving the Holy Spirit. All of these rituals leave a mark on the convert, as they do on those raised in the faith: you have crossed over. You have been accepted into a tribe; you are one of us.

On Easter, lots of new folks come into the Catholic Church; it's one of the main draws of the long Easter Vigil Mass, in fact... we can watch the faces of the people as they are baptized: some are so pensive and introspective and some are in tears of ecstasy. Some are looking at wives, husbands, moms and dads: I hope this pleases you, because this is embarrassing. The variety of faces reflect all manner of religious experience. I always pick the faces that look happiest, and afterwards, I welcome them personally into the Church. Thus, I am also part of the ritual, if I choose to be.

Other religions do not do this. Therefore, being the Majors, we can judge the conversion not to have really happened. We apply our standards, our measuring sticks, and then find them lacking. Where is the baptism? Did you ANNOUNCE yourself somewhere? Where are the official records?

They don't do it that way. WE do it that way.

Unfortunately, the lack of officialdom, like a lack of borders, can lead to trouble and weirdness. It can lead to appropriation.

And yes, I realize that Islam and Christianity, as The Majors, are appropriated all the time. Rather than see Christmas as Christianity encroaching on secularism, for instance, I tend to see it as the secular world stealing our cool shit. (Hey, Santa Claus was St Nicholas of Myra, goddammit, leave him alone.) When you have all classes of rock bands singing SILENT NIGHT, all you can do is shake your head in amazement. But when you are one of The Majors, you can endure that. In fact, it is just more proof of how BIG you really are. They have Santa Claus in Japanese store windows, now, take that! (Are we #1 or what?)

In the end, Christmas trees and bad carols notwithstanding, the question, the BORDERS, stay constant: ARE YOU A CHRISTIAN? There is only one answer to that. You can modify it any number of ways (and Lord knows, I love my modifiers), but in the end, there is only one answer. There is a BORDER, and there it is: Yes or no?

Again, other religions may not have the brightly-drawn borders; the yesses and nos are not in stark relief.

That means, the stealing is not as well-understood. How can it be stealing if they are giving it away? They do not do it like we do, after all... they don't have a ritual demarcating one's entrance. You can enter and exit at will, any time you want.

And so, people do.

~*~

Daniel Pinchbeck, photo from Sounds True.




All of this came to mind as I read Reality Sandwich, new to my blogroll. I've heard Daniel Pinchbeck's CDs regarding 2012, much of which is also in his book, 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl. My first thought, after so much discussion and teeth-gnashing throughout Feminist/Lefty Blogdonia: Should he be doing that? Does the shamanic tradition properly belong to him? Is he stealing?

Much of Pinchbeck's work is about psychedelics and spirituality, which we could rightly claim is the recorded tradition of another tribe altogether, a tribe with a recognized pedigree, in which he does belong: hippies. (Pinchbeck's mother was Joyce Johnson, paramour of Jack Kerouac.) But there is a particular way that hippies approached enlightenment, and that is not necessarily the way Native Americans did, even if the mescalito is the same.

From the blurb on Pinchbeck's recent CD, titled Emergence 2012: The Soundtrack for Global Evolution:

Take a musical journey into the lush soundscapes of the 2012 phenomenon with Emergence 2012. Inspired by Baktuns—or cycles of the classical Mayan calendar—this mind-bending music infuses psychoacoustic rhythms with the chants of ayahuasca shamans and natural harmonics found deep within the forests of South America. Created by sound healing visionary Alex Theory and Daniel Pinchbeck, bestselling author of 2012: The Return of Quetzalcoatl.

And now we come full circle, to that place where hippies encroached on Native American religion, as well as Eastern religions.

Or did they?

What if they feel they were directly asked by [fill in words for God here]? What if, in fact, this is The Truth? Does the religious activity still qualify as "encroachment"--or is this the end result of an exhaustive spiritual journey? Is it cultural appropriation and imperialism if one BELIEVES THEY HAVE FOUND THE TRUTH?

I don't think it is.

This is not appropriation, any more than learning another language is. I think it is endorsing another spiritual truth. It is LEAVING The Majors, for something one finds more suitable and real.

But I'll be honest: I get unaccountably nervous when I hear hippies employing ancient chants that were never theirs.

And then AGAIN: If white hippies with education and privilege announce that something is genuine and true, isn't that something of a revolutionary endorsement? This is the real thing, not what I was taught by my own culture--is a pretty powerful statement. (Maybe THE most powerful statement.)

Where does appropriation start, when we talk about religions? Because they are not simply cultural, they are accounts of life, creation, consciousness, truth and morality. They are VERSIONS of how we approach the divine.

Can we rightly say this is stolen, when it is being endorsed as the Truth, above and beyond The Majors?

What do you think?

~*~


[1] If you haven't read Cara's fabulous several-part series on racism, sexism and Yoko Ono, go over there RIGHT NOW and read the WHOLE THING. Great analysis.

[2] The title of this post is from the first lines of my favorite George Harrison song, What is Life? (And yes, I realize it was produced by Phil Spector, subject of much fulminating here at DEAD AIR.) Embedding has been disabled, she sighed once again...

The song was also employed to excellent advantage in the DEAD AIR favorite GOODFELLAS, which I also intend to blog about one of these days.

Nothing left to do but smile, smile, smile

The graphic at left, in whatever form, is called a STEALIE. It was designed by none other than Stanley Owsley himself. [EDIT, in comments, Doc Anchovy has helpfully pointed out that I reversed the famous acid-chemist's name, which is Owsley Stanley. His acid was named simply "Owsley"--so I tend to forget that was not his surname. --Daisy]

The word "stealie" comes from the line "steal your face right off your head"--a trick only Deadheads know how to do. :)

The line is at 1:10 and 5:30 in the following song, if you don't want to listen to the whole thing.

Recorded in 1972 in Denmark. Once again, Bobby looks about 14. Phil, about 16. (Jerry was born looking 40... sigh.)

He's Gone - Grateful Dead



I hope the last thing I ever hear on this planet is the reedy, tweedly-tweedly introductory-riff of this song. I have probably heard it 50,000 times, and yet, the riff embeds itself DEEP into my cerebral cortex and makes me SMILE SMILE SMILE just like a Stealie. :D

I have always loved the fact that the song makes no rational sense. Life isn't always sensible, you know!

The second line is the name of my archives (sidebar at right) also. I thought naming it simply "archives" was boring.

For you old Ms. message-board denizens, my name on Ms. was...

China Cat Sunflower - Grateful Dead



It is considered musical blasphemy that the previous clip does not automatically segue into I Know You Rider--they were always performed together and therefore known as "China/Rider" by fans. (YouTube is too TIME-LIMITED to contain the magical force that was the Grateful Dead!)

Someone helpfully continued the second half (the full China/Rider, containing finale, here):

I Know you Rider - Grateful Dead



Listen to the signature loop-de-loop riff that signals the song's end, no matter how long they jam. It's at about 4 minutes. Rumbly, doodle-doodle bass by Phil, with the transcendent riff sliding right over it. It's traced on my cerebellum forever!

And yeah, you're right, we do miss you, Grandpa Jerry. At least we can still listen.

Enjoy!

Dead Air Church: The Joy of Compassion

At left: Dhyani Buddha Amoghasiddhi, traditional Tibetan Thangka painting.


Another version of the story below is in the book THE JOY OF COMPASSION by Lama Zopa Rinpoche--which is free from the Lama Yeshe Wisdom Archives.

This version is excerpted from Teachings From the Vajrasattva Retreat. (Soquel, California, 1999)

~*~

...As I mentioned once before, when the great yogi Ngagpa Chöpawa was going to Odi to practice tantra—probably the final part of the practice —at the river crossing there was a woman totally covered by leprosy sores, with pus and blood oozing out. She asked the yogi, “Please take me across to the other side of the river.” The yogi didn’t help her and left. Later, his disciple Getsul Tsimbulwa, a monk living in the thirty-six vows, came along and she asked him the same thing, “Please take me across to the other side of the river.” As soon as he saw this woman sitting there, completely covered with leprosy sores with pus oozing out, totally dark, just by seeing her, he felt unbearable compassion and immediately, without any hesitation, without thinking that he is a monk and she is a woman or that she’s covered in disease, something untouchable, with none of this, he just picked her up, put her on his back and started across the river. Getsul Tsimbulwa, with his unbearable compassion, completely sacrificed himself to carry this woman.

However, when they reached the middle of the river, this woman suddenly became the deity Dorje Pagmo, the female buddha, Dorje Pagmo, and took this monk to the pure land Tarpa Kachö. If you are born in this pure land, you are one hundred per cent certain to become enlightened in that life. So, in the middle of the river, this woman, who was covered with leprosy, looking very ordinary, in much suffering, became the buddha, the deity Dorje Pagmo, and took this monk to her pure land, and in that way, he became enlightened.

In this story, the teacher, the yogi, didn’t help that woman but just passed by. However, his disciple, the monk, sacrificed his life to take care of her, to carry her across the river. Then, in this life, without first having to die, he was taken to her pure land in his ordinary body—in this life, not the next. He went to the pure land, not after death but in the body of this life, and became enlightened there. From the story, it seems that perhaps the disciple got enlightened before his teacher, the yogi.

Therefore, when we think of the benefits of cherishing one sentient being, sacrificing our life for one sentient being, they are like the infinite sky. The benefits are unbelievable; something to enjoy in life. The benefits of cherishing even one sentient being with bodhicitta are like the sky.

Cherishing others, seeing that even one sentient being is much more precious than yourself, is the most precious thing in your life, is most kind, is an unbelievable way to enjoy your life.

I’m not telling you why we should help others, why we should benefit others, because this is something new that you haven’t heard before. Those who have received lam-rim teachings have heard this many times. I’m doing it to inspire or remind all those who already know these things and to inform those who don’t but need to know. Why? Because this is the most important education of all. This is more important to know than anything else in life. This is the most important thing you will ever learn.

--Venerable Kyabje Lama Zopa Rinpoche is the Spiritual Director of the Foundation of the Preservation of the Mahayana Tradition.

~*~

At left: traditional St Christopher medal, patron saint of travelers.

The Buddhist story above is very, very similar to the Christian story of St Christopher, which literally translates as "Christ-bearer":

[The hermit] suggested that because of his size and strength Christopher could serve Christ by assisting people to cross a dangerous river, where many were perishing in the attempt. The hermit promised that this service would be pleasing to Christ.

After Christopher had performed this service for some time, a little child asked him to take him across the river. During the crossing, the river became swollen and the child seemed as heavy as lead, so much that Christopher could scarcely carry him and found himself in great difficulty. When he finally reached the other side, he said to the child: "You have put me in the greatest danger. I do not think the whole world could have been as heavy on my shoulders as you were." The child replied: "You had on your shoulders not only the whole world but him who made it. I am Christ your king, whom you are serving by this work." The child then vanished.

And Christopher was sainted, that is to say, granted eternal life.

These stories instruct us that we save ourselves through saving others. The persons saved turn out to be actual deities; this is a way of saying everyone could be a deity, no matter their outward appearance.

Therefore, love others as you love God.

~*~

And now for our hymn. This may not last long, so listen while you have the chance! My other David Crosby song, LAUGHING, was removed recently... and another version of WOODEN SHIPS has already been yanked, like, since last night.

So, here is the only one that remains on YouTube. Listen and remember ... and don't forget the edifying stories we have just heard!

Note Stephen Stills' dreamy-beautiful guitar lines, which are perfectly suggestive of waves on the water; every now and then some crashing and turbulence.

Wooden Ships - Crosby, Stills and Nash



Have a beautiful Sabbath, everyone!

Two from Disraeli Gears

Good lord, is Disraeli Gears really 41 years old?

From Wikipedia:

The title of the album was taken from an inside joke. Eric Clapton had been thinking of buying a racing bicycle and was discussing it with Ginger Baker, when a roadie named Mick Turner commented, "its got them Disraeli Gears", meaning to say "derailleur gears", but instead alluding to 19th Century British Prime Minister, Benjamin Disraeli. The band thought this was hilarious, and decided that it should be the title of their next album. Had it not been for Mick, the album would simply have been entitled Cream.

I've always wondered! Damn, the internetz rule!

Enjoy these two fabulous tunes. I shall love them passionately until I am lowered into the grave.

PS: The second song is NOT the Van Halen song of the same name!

~*~

World Of Pain - Cream



~*~

This song is so purty, you can't stand it...a big favorite of your humble narrator. Take special note of Clapton's heavenly riffs, and Ginger Baker's signature "tom-tom" drumming style. Lots of the otherworldly vibe is undoubtedly due to Felix Pappalardi's incredible production.

Dance the Night Away - Cream

Voodoo Chile, slight return

Our Lady of Fatima appears to Lucia, Jacinta and Francisco in Portugal in 1917, stained glass from St Mary's Church in Greenville, SC.

~*~



We are discussing archetypes, mountains, deserts, religion, Jesus, Philip K Dick novels, psychedelic drugs and other cool stuff over on the Rapture thread, so if you one of those old hippies into all that, bring it!



On the thread in question, I embarrassingly confessed that I once had a profound mystical experience listening to 70s progressive ART ROCK, God help us. (((blushes bright pink)))

To make up for that, and to mend my musical reputation, I hurriedly add that I also had a mystical experience listening to THIS... yes, along with most of the rest of population of Berserkely and all points Westward.

Only someone possessed of the Holy Spirit could make a guitar (or anything else) sound like this. And he played it upside-down and left-handed, which as any religion scholar will tell you, cinches the deal.

PS: And if people want to talk about Voodoo, go for it!

Must be played very, very loud for maximum spiritual benefits.

~*~

Voodoo Chile (Slight Return) - Jimi Hendrix



And if I don't meet you no more in this world
Then I'll meet you in the next one
And don't be late
Don't be late.

Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere

I've had a hectic work schedule, so my apologies to everyone I owe email to, as well as regular snail mail and phone calls! (Cousin Bethie, this means you.) I'll get around to it, I swear!

Meanwhile, you all get to listen to the Who. You really don't need much else in life.

Fun visual effects in this one, as the primitive black-and-white camera (1965, British TV) swoops around every which-way, trying to look suitably psychedelic for the times. Keith Moon looks maybe 14 years old, as he smashes away at the drums. God, I miss him. I forget which writer (possibly Greil Marcus or Dave Marsh?) said Keith kept Pete from taking himself too seriously, balancing The Who in a way that was forever lost when he passed.

Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere



From the same year, American TV (does anyone remember Shindig?)--

I Can't Explain



PS: Don't forget to watch the Vice Presidential debate tonight! To keep you occupied, by way of wonderful Cracker Lilo, comes the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator! Amaze your friends!

Dead Air Church - You can't ever come down

Time for some vintage 60s psychedelia!

The American Metaphysical Circus by Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies, was the type of record people pulled out for (ahem) special occasions. You are not likely to hear a purer specimen of the times.

What's very cool about Joe is that he publicly stated (in 2002, during the Napster lawsuit) if Sony won't PAY HIM after many years of theft, let everyone have the music for free:

Apr 23, 2002 | Joseph Byrd recorded a pair of experimental psychedelic albums for Columbia Records in the late 1960s. Since then, he says he's earned a few thousand dollars in composer's fees but hasn't received a single penny in artist's royalties.

It's not for lack of trying. Byrd says he sent his first letter of complaint to the label in 1976, and over the years he's repeatedly asked for financial statements on album sales and royalties. Letters have been sent, phone calls have been made. But even as his recordings -- "The United States of America" and "The American Metaphysical Circus" -- began to reappear on compact disc, Columbia and its parent company (Sony) continued to ignore Byrd's pleas.

On Feb. 27, the mild-mannered professor -- Byrd teaches music history at the College of the Redwoods in Northern California -- decided to take his case to Marilyn Hall Patel, the federal judge overseeing the labels' lawsuit against Napster for copyright infringement. He wrote Patel a letter detailing how Sony had been giving him the cold shoulder for decades. His situation, he added, was hardly unique.

"I am not alone," he wrote. "Literally thousands of musicians like me, who are purportedly represented by record companies and distributors in the current Napster case, are in my situation."

"The record companies' representation that they are legitimate agents for their artists is false," he continued. "The only payments they make are to those who have the means to force them to be accountable; to the rest, a vast majority, they pay nothing. Therefore, allowing them to collect fees in our behalf does not serve the public interest. I personally would prefer to allow my music to be freely shared, to the present situation, in which only the corporations stand to gain. Until this is changed, the record companies and publishers deserve nothing."

And a hearty amen to that, on this sabbath morning! A man who freely cavorts with field hippies is my kind of music history professor.

How did the sand get inside of your brain?

~*~

The first video is just the album cover, the second has the appropriate trippy visuals to go with the subject matter. (And in the second, I think those are ray-beams shooting out of J. Edgar Hoover's eyes at 1:40.)

Joe Byrd and The Field Hippies - You can't ever come down

[via FoxyTunes / Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies]

Joe Byrd and The Field Hippies - The Elephant At The Door

[via FoxyTunes / Joe Byrd and the Field Hippies]

Dead Air Church: Tomorrow Never Knows

Welcome to all you intrepid explorers of the psyche, you mad adventurers of the gray matter, out there on Facebook and an unnamed message board, currently musing over my Dr Hofmann post. YES, this week, Dead Air Church is for you, you stratosphere-hopping maniacs!

Today, we feature Tomorrow Never Knows, the last song on the Beatles' influential Revolver. I was momentarily concerned that I had used a John Lennon song for Dead Air Church only a couple of weeks ago. And then I thought, wait a minute, regular churches uses the same prophets and mystics over and over again. I guess I can do the same here. I found a wonderfully appropriate psychedelic version.

Wikipedia gives us the background, as if you couldn't tell by just listening:

John Lennon wrote the song in January 1966, closely adapted from the book The Psychedelic Experience by Timothy Leary, Richard Alpert and Ralph Metzner, which they based on, and quoted from, the Tibetan Book of the Dead, with the understanding that the "ego death" experienced under the influence of LSD and other psychedelic drugs is essentially similar to the dying process and requires similar guidance.

Peter Brown claimed that Lennon's only source of inspiration for the song came from the Tibetan Book of the Dead, which it says Lennon read whilst tripping on LSD. George Harrison later stated that the idea for the lyrics came from Leary, Alpert, and Metzner's book. McCartney confirmed this by stating that he and Lennon once visited the newly opened Indica bookshop—as Lennon was looking for a copy of The Portable Nietzsche—and Lennon found a copy of The Psychedelic Experience, which quoted the lines: "When in doubt, relax, turn off your mind, float downstream". Lennon bought the book, went home, took LSD, and followed the instructions exactly as stated in the book.

That you may see the meaning of within: It is being.

~*~

The Beatles - Tomorrow Never Knows

[via FoxyTunes / The Beatles]