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...
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