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...one things for certain that any layabout from th'sixties till right this minute in th'HERE&NOW gonna have to admit this LP is a one way ticket to gonesville, its a psychedelic masterpiece o'beatnik vision,(this ain't got nothin' to do with hippy, this is fried peyote, a trip to th'endless white light o' outtaspaceways)...this is acid levitation o' th'highest order'n not just psychedelic gimmicks(as fun as they can be on th'right disk) panderin' to record company ideas o' whats happ'nin', whats down with th'kids'n most important, th'bread...all th'instruments weave in'n out o'th'tunes constantly that even 4 decades down th' road there's nuances to catch that a cats gonna swear weren't there before( this could be true cos masters o' th''circle o' otherness' such as roky'n tommy hall gonna know how to keep th'vibration ridin' for as long as hep cats dig th'moment)...this wax is so much about breakin' through to th'other side that it leaves morrisons combo in th'jazz lounge with no hope o'escape...th'groove envelopes'n expands takin' all true beleivin' cats with it, leavin' th'body behind, journey to th'furthest limits o' flipcity, time suspended for who knows how long, for what is time but a (un)physical illusion o' invisible movement inside a bigger/smaller reality 'o unknown dimensional conscious space...tommys totally hep temporal stradlin' use o' th'jug was a totally right on move that only cats such as th'elevators coulda thought about usin', let alone th'way it bubbles in every direction at once...this jug noise just makes every moog&synth wax redundant before th'shrink wraps off, aint no way this jug use o' tommys gonna get beat by wires'n knobs, this jugs synonymous with movin' in a jazz bohemian awareness...th'guitars calmly blow th'listner to gonesville, so effortlessly that it's difficult to know where th' beginin'n end is,it just glides'n circles in endless patterns...this was way past anything else in both rock & roll at th'time(th'dead were workin' on some cool ideas 'bout recordin' heavy air but th'evidence could be illusional, thats th'true beauty out-thereness), showin' th'whole summer o' love as a fake without knowin' they were peelin' back th'media's hazy viel o' delusion/collusion/exclusion so gone were they in th' first reality o' bein', not corrupted by th' corporate death machine...this is th'high watermark o' elevatorness cos never again would they be allowed to reach such wigged out groovin'...th'state o' texas had some radical ideas 'bout how to deal with music o' th' spheres 'n dirty beatnix who spread enlightenment, th' time to crush th'vision was movin' ever closer but only physically cos th'dreamstate o' this wax is eternal, no pig oppression could ever destroy this hep trip...
...one things for certain that any layabout from th'sixties till right this minute in th'HERE&NOW gonna have to admit this LP is a one way ticket to gonesville, its a psychedelic masterpiece o'beatnik vision,(this ain't got nothin' to do with hippy, this is fried peyote, a trip to th'endless white light o' outtaspaceways)...this is acid levitation o' th'highest order'n not just psychedelic gimmicks(as fun as they can be on th'right disk) panderin' to record company ideas o' whats happ'nin', whats down with th'kids'n most important, th'bread...all th'instruments weave in'n out o'th'tunes constantly that even 4 decades down th' road there's nuances to catch that a cats gonna swear weren't there before( this could be true cos masters o' th''circle o' otherness' such as roky'n tommy hall gonna know how to keep th'vibration ridin' for as long as hep cats dig th'moment)...this wax is so much about breakin' through to th'other side that it leaves morrisons combo in th'jazz lounge with no hope o'escape...th'groove envelopes'n expands takin' all true beleivin' cats with it, leavin' th'body behind, journey to th'furthest limits o' flipcity, time suspended for who knows how long, for what is time but a (un)physical illusion o' invisible movement inside a bigger/smaller reality 'o unknown dimensional conscious space...tommys totally hep temporal stradlin' use o' th'jug was a totally right on move that only cats such as th'elevators coulda thought about usin', let alone th'way it bubbles in every direction at once...this jug noise just makes every moog&synth wax redundant before th'shrink wraps off, aint no way this jug use o' tommys gonna get beat by wires'n knobs, this jugs synonymous with movin' in a jazz bohemian awareness...th'guitars calmly blow th'listner to gonesville, so effortlessly that it's difficult to know where th' beginin'n end is,it just glides'n circles in endless patterns...this was way past anything else in both rock & roll at th'time(th'dead were workin' on some cool ideas 'bout recordin' heavy air but th'evidence could be illusional, thats th'true beauty out-thereness), showin' th'whole summer o' love as a fake without knowin' they were peelin' back th'media's hazy viel o' delusion/collusion/exclusion so gone were they in th' first reality o' bein', not corrupted by th' corporate death machine...this is th'high watermark o' elevatorness cos never again would they be allowed to reach such wigged out groovin'...th'state o' texas had some radical ideas 'bout how to deal with music o' th' spheres 'n dirty beatnix who spread enlightenment, th' time to crush th'vision was movin' ever closer but only physically cos th'dreamstate o' this wax is eternal, no pig oppression could ever destroy this hep trip...
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3 comments:
What you said. I just downloaded the "Sign Of The Three Eyed Men" box, which in spite of the usual fanboy bicker n' snipe is the best I ever heard them, and I do urge you to pick it off the interwebs yourself if not already done so.
As ever, a fine slab o' stream o' consciousness scribin' from the SS2, a real postcard from Gonesville.
a wonderful set with some great soundin' grooves that benefit bein' heard through decent headphones, recommended or all lovers o' th'psychedelic sounds from monkey island...
Oh yeah - nice to see your scan of the first edition cover of the first album, too. It's not only the sound that's been degraded through years of third-generation tape pilfering, but also the artwork. That first album had gorgeous fat gold ink (as did the second), and all subsequent editions are pale copies (some turned through 45 degrees for no reason).
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