The Last Wall Of The Castle.

A: 8 Track of the Anthem Of The Sun.
B: Alexander "Skip" Spence.
C: Hunter S. Thompson For Sheriff poster.
D. Avalon Ballroom poster.

So. Regarding the American Psychedelic Movement as constituted in the mid to late 1960s: I am well aware, before you start, that if one subtracts the music, 95% of what remains is horse-shit: naive crud and psycho-gibber. And, in any case, I refuse to attempt to quantify the other 5%. You may be able to make a case concerning societal resonances in modern culture, attributable to experimentation into realms of conciousness that occurred in the USA (and the UK) during the period; but I can't be bothered. And, sans the music, I'm not at all sure if anything remains from that time, beyond a few freaky hippies here and there. Certainly, there's nothing now in mass culture, beyond a sprinkling of co-opted vocabulary, floating like driftwood on a sea of shit.
So it's the music, generally dismissed and derided by critics (who nevertheless regard punk, a far more insubstantial (if neccessary at the time) phenomenon, as untouchable), that remains. This is best appreciated on records that still crackle like a good fire, even as the day-glo sleeves continue their fade down to the embers. So, this blog will concern itself with rambling about such artefacts, except when it doesn't. Or something like that.

RULES:

1. All posts shall be written whilst at least mildly inebriated.

2. All posts shall concern West Coast acid crud from the period 1966-1970.*

3. All posts shall be written with a degree of affection for the aforementioned crud.

*Except those that don't.

Tuesday, 7 September 2010

Country Joe and The Fish: I-Feel-Like-I'm-Fixin'-To-Die


Let us start at the start at the start at the start at the start at the start at the start at the start at the start...
Posted by at No comments:
Subscribe to: Posts (Atom)