Crawling King Snake


Let me tell you about Texas radio & the big beat.............

…

wicker basket and looked very evil indeed. When I shook my head, he lifted the lid of the basket and a vicious cobra head snaked out towards my bare arms. Naturally, I turned and ran with all the haste I could muster. I was filled with hate and fear, mostly fear, especi­ally as he had taken off after me, in hot pursuit. I ran like a bat out of hell and managed to lock myself behind closed doors. After a while I began breathing, but I shall never forget the experience.

A subsequent visit to the train station, resulted in my friend Graham and myself booking the 2.00 p.m. express on Thursday 27th December for Bombay. We would be traveling relatively comfortably in a reserved sleeper at a student concession rate. These arrangements were completed on Monday 24th December or Xmas eve, later that night we retired to our hotel room and had a kind of party. These celebrations continued on through the night until Xmas Day and as soon as we could stand up without falling over, which was rather late in the evening, we trotted over to a semi-European restaurant for a late Xmas dinner.

Previous fasting (adopting local customs) in anticipation of this feast, led me to make a pig of myself. I had fried liver, chips, beans, tea, toast, vegetable cutlets, chocolate ice­ cream and strawberry milkshake. After this huge meal we returned to the hotel to rest.

Boxing Day began correctly enough with me being served breakfast in bed around noon.l lay in bed until 3.00.p.m., not my usual habit I may add, and then I sauntered out for a meal.

The only exercise I seemed to get was the walk from the hotel to a restaurant, although my arms got used lifting all that heavy food and cutlery. I also utilised muscles in my mouth, chewing all that delicious grub. Thank goodness I had read all those Billy Bunter books when I was young and I knew the delights of such an abundance of such tuck. I felt as if the others in the restaurant could see me drooling as my repast arrived on my table.

However on my return this night we ventured out to attend a concert of Indian classical music. This was to be my initial encounter with the higher castes of Indian society. There was a real lack of atmosphere at this concert, although the musicians were very talented, but the immense size of the hall and the scattered attendance, meant the acoustics were very dull. There was no warmth between the performers and the audience. The latter were very restrained, not showing any emotion and constrained by behavior appropriate to their caste.

I was also impressed by the different modes of transport available in India, e.g.,

rickshaws (powered by either man or bicycle), scooter taxis, tong-as (horse-drawn carts), or motor vehicles, etc., most of the scooter taxis were driven by Sikhs, whereas the tongas and rickshaws were manned by impoverished Hindus. On the Thursday, we travelled by tonga to the train station via Old Delhi.

This would be a fine way to remember Old Delhi, if one was never to return, viz; riding in a horse-drawn carriage at an easy pace through crowded noisy, streets. A new adventure awaited us as we boarded the Bombay express. This was a fresh, new experience for me as travelling on Indian railways was unlike a normal day-return on British Rail.

Hunting Tigers Out in India

.....lives, were actually dying of exposure in the cold streets of Delhi. Delhi seemed quite warm to me, although the Indians would, of course, disagree. One was not aware that we were fast approaching Xmas, as none of the trappings of Xmas commercialism were present in the streets of the capital. Oddly enough my first day was fully occupied by me trying to obtain transport out of the city. Hence here lies the inherent weakness in a life of travel, i.e., once one starts moving and the joy of travel gets into one's blood, one finds it difficult to stop and settle down. The fact that I spent this first day in Delhi trying to arrange transport away from that city, probably serves as an adequate description of that city.

I made enquiries concerning the availability of trains for Bombay. This would become my first limited stop en route for Goa. Distance was becoming an obsession with me, because by this time I had gone 6,000 miles and the distance from Delhi to Bombay added another 1,000 miles onto this total. I was indeed a’ Poor boy a long ways from home'.

My initial impressions of Delhi were mixed. On the one side was New Delhi, with its ultra­modern facades, with its Connaught Circus and flash hotels and Government offices. One could easily imagine oneself in London. In contrast, at the other extreme, there was Old Delhi and I was to grow acquainted with this district, because I had to criss-cross it a number of times on my way to the train station. Old Delhi buzzed with all kinds of life (& death). I recall walking past a dead horse in the middle of the main road in Old Delhi and it was being reduced to a skeleton by some very large and healthy vultures. No one in the street seemed to pay this remarkable (to me at least) event the least bit of attention. On my return from the station, many hours later, after much form-filling, I saw the animal still lying there, hardly recognisable now as a horse, but nevertheless it was keeping the

big birds busy. The sight of these vultures was frightening, and whereas in other more familiar cities, one does not even give the local scavenger birds a second glance. The sheer size of those vultures still haunts my dreams.

Now that I had entered this great city's walls, I was soon prey to many of that city's horde of trained, professional beggars. I was shocked to learn that some of these women actually maimed their own children at birth, so that they would have a successful begging career. One could also rent children, who were already maimed or badly disfigured, for the day, at what appeared to be a reasonable cost. In any case, I had to have a clear policy on begging and I had decided, after long deliberation, not to give to beggars under any circum­stances. This was not because I was mean in any way, but I soon learned that if one is generous to one alms-hunter, word quickly spreads among the others and soon one is surrounded by an angry mob, who would be quick to rob or even kill you for the shirt off one's back. My action was further justified by my witnessing the damage done by unthinking, but caring tourists, who give beggars ten dollars or the equivalent in rupees and ruin the individuals whole way of life, turning the victim to drink or some other, darker evil.

I also had a bad experience with a few beggars. One immediately comes to mind. l had been walking through the bazaar, when staring eyes asked me for some money. He was carrying a.....................

Borderline Case

I was a bit better organised at this stage, and as I could not afford to have any of my precious rupees taken, so I carried all of my rupees on my person in a small shoulder bag. As we filed into line to be searched, (this would be a very thorough search, impossible to get through), I managed to choose my moment, split-second timing was required, and escaped unnoticed into the bureau d'exchange and cashed a five-dollar travellers cheque. I got a ridiculously low official rate for my five dollars, but I dragged the actual exchange out as long as possible, as it was crucial to my master plan. After this process, I spotted that the passengers, who had already been searched, were standing outside the bus. So I walked over to join them, shaking like a leaf, but luckily I remained unobserved. I was shivering in my shoes even though the climate was markedly warmer. I had made it. I had succeeded over this last difficult hurdle. I was in India after all these trials and tribulations.

All these last, horrendous weeks, flew from my mind, when I passed through that customs post. The sun shone warmer and brighter, colours were sharper, the birds sang sweeter and I found a smile on my lips and I tear in my eye.

When we reached the first town in India, Amritsar, (the Sikh capital) we ate well, in good, cheap restaurants and could stay in a hotel, if we so desired. I chose to spend, what was to be our last night together as a group, on the bus. We reached our destination, exactly on schedule, after five long weeks and entered Delhi on Saturday 22nd December. The parting of the ways was not easy at all. After all we had been cooped up together for five weeks and 6,000 miles, and yet here we were stranded alone in a strange country. Now we had to think and fend for ourselves. As we started to slowly depart from the buses, you could cut the silence with a knife. Even though some of us were not the best of friends, we all sort of depended upon one another, and we were a comfort to one another through all our difficulties.

It was as if we had been dropped into a vacuum. It was something of a shock trying to decide what to do, where to go, who to go along with, etc.. Although we had been making plans along the way, when we had to put these plans into operation, we felt a little lethargic. Perhaps we were all so tired after completing such a hazardous journey. It was like attending a funeral, and there was a gap there as if someone had just died. Maybe we were just surprised that after all we had been through, that we had survived. We were lost sheep, looking for the flock, the pen or the shepherd. No one said goodbye when we finally alighted from the vehicles, but all the passengers drifted off the bus, split into two loose groups and stepped into the two nearby hotels.

I stayed at the Kesri Hotel, near the bazaar, with many of my companions off the bus and we cut costs by sharing a huge dormitory. The cohesiveness of the group had obviously been enhanced, by five weeks eating, sleeping and being ill together. One tends to build up strong attachments under such circumstances.

I was stunned to hear that the Indians, who slept on the pavement every day of their

Trout Mask Replica


Thinking again about the Sun City Girls concert last year(or was it the year before) & my fascination with tribal masks, I thought I would make this short posting.

Lost

Librarians are constantly aware of the severe onslaught of information: the information overload. I mean there is so much out there to take in & even although I live far away from any of the centres of population, where life rushes past, you cannot but consider what we have gained with too much of everything.

How do we find what we really need? How much of our life would be enriched by the newest most fashionable consumer goods. Sometimes it is fine to go against the flow. I mean chance plays a big part on what paths I choose. I believe that this is directed by a higher power.

Take this moment as I write this. I am listening to the High Llamas – Retrospective, Rarities & Instrumentals. I mean who else in the world is doing the same? Anyway I discovered the band by accident & they are superb in a Beach Boys/Beatles/Les Baxter kind of way.

I have more cds to listen to now than I have time left to live. A sobering thought. Thus choice becomes important. I know what I like but sometimes you have to go outside the box.

Outside this box recently I have discovered beautiful Italian soundtracks & other soundtracks that would disappear into oblivion, without someone, probably another barmy librarian, pointing me in that direction; Comus & all the raft of new & older folk material that is worth a second life e.g. Incredible String band & Pentangle. Original psychedelia/garage & the newer versions keep me sane alongside all that 60s radical, free jazz that I am only now catching up on.

Freedom


A short break from all that travel to think about St Andrews Day. We cannot even celebrate it as a national day because the English or the Scottish English wont let us. One day very soon we will gain freedom from our oppressors.


I have 60 horses in my head & 9 horses bringing snow borne sorrow ( that is a lot of horses!) & I finally have a cd copy of Jerry Yester & Judy Henske's 'Farewell Alderbaran'. I live in the best little country in the world, out fitba & rugby is getting better, the English are losing at every sport, I should be happy. In fact I think I will go & put the kettle on & sing a Burns song.

You Are Either On the Bus or Off
the Bus

I’m not sure whether the drivers had some kind of bad experience of Pakistan in the past and this was why they flew through that country, but I would rather believe that they had some type of timetable to reach India by whenever. Obviously by this time if the latter were true, then they were way behind schedule.

On Friday 21st December we came upon the frontier separating Pakistan and India, but once again our path was paved with obstacles. It seems to be a fact in life, that whenever one wants or needs something badly, one has to struggle in order to achieve it. The more one wants or needs this desire the harder the struggle will be. The British Raj have a lot to answer for in India and the one legacy they have left in their wake, to pay the Indians back for their struggle for independence, is a solid system of bureaucracy. This bureaucracy now has a historical tradition behind it, thus the early foundations are firmly embedded in cement. Upon this rock I will build a bureaucracy, sayeth the Raj. Paperwork permeates throughout India, particularly within the railway network. The only blessing I can add, is that Indian paper is very cheap and nasty, thus most of this paper has a short lifespan. Official rules and regulations are the norm and clerical staff are, in reality, the most superior class in the Indian caste hierarchy. Consequently, the Pakistan-Indian customs post was, on the surface a net of airtight security. An additional nightmare resulted from the fact, that there would be no acceptance of bribery and we found this difficult to fathom, as we were now well-educated in the gentle art of backsheesh. The official in charge of the Indian side of the border was a Sikh and obviously above reproach.

This presented many problems for us as most of us were carrying some form of contraband. We were now in a different world and over the past few days we had gone from extreme cold to moderate heat and here at the border we were enveloped in the subcontinent's lush vegetation. Unfortunately our mantra for the day would be the Beatles

'Everybody's got something to hide except me and my monkey.'

My own problems took root back in Afghanistan where I had bought some black market rupees. The exchange rate in Afghanistan was a good deal better than it would be in India, so I had changed quite a bit of currency in Kabul. We were also informed it would be simplicity itself taking the money across the borders. Perhaps the men behind the deal at the Afghani end informed the border post in India and they would pick up their share of the profit. Thus the Government officials at the frontier were having a field day, confiscating drugs and money. The official­-in-charge, proclaiming himself to be a reasonable man, gave us the benefit of a lengthy, speech, explaining that if we owned up and surrendered whatever we were smuggling, nothing would happen to us, no reprimands would occur. We were all a little wary of this statement, albeit the truth, however he repeated his request, and eventually the lack of response convinced him that he would have to have both the vehicles and the passengers searched.

The buses were literally goldmines as many of the other travellers had similar ideas as my own and had brought Indian currency with them, these were confiscated. Thank goodness,

The next day we managed to get over the Pakistani border, out what an exciting day that was. I sensed that events were beginning to go wrong as we were driving downhill via "the Khyber Pass, a rumour began to circulate about the apparent failure of the brakes. Whether this tale was the truth or not, I never did discover, but one thing was certain, we drove at an extreme pace through the pass. Perhaps this was just as well, for hidden deep within the pass, there were numerous marksmen taking pot shots at the vehicles and even at our fantastic speed, some of these shots were successful.

Onward & Upward

By the time we reached the border post, the appearance of the buses resembled that of two ancient, beaten, colanders. Further problems were to arise at the Pakistan side of the border. The border officials became elated when they realised there were many faults or possible misdemeanors among our entry papers and of course this meant considerable supplementary income in the form of bribes. We had now grown accustomed to these practices. Personally I had to undergo quite a strain, as a so-called doctor, in what might have been at one time, white coat, motioned to me and then to one of the drivers, that I had had only one of the two required cholera jabs, therefore I could not possibly" enter Pakistan. Heated arguments began, but we were helplessly at his mercy. Eventually we struck up a reasonable bargain, then we followed him into his private tent way out back, where he pocketed the money and stamped our papers. The details took a little longer than they should have, as the officials delaying tactics meant he could expect more cash. These events took place in the pitch dark, which was possibly planned by the officials well in advance. After these proceedings were completed, we made our way into a small town just over the boundary and once more our eyes were to open wide in disbelief.

Many of the little local shops had decided to stretch their opening hours in order to secure our custom, no doubt they had been notified of our presence by the border guards, who would get their share of the profits. They probably added that we were easy meat. One of the shops astonished me by procuring both instruments of peace and war, with equal enthusiasm. This proprietor offered for sale drugs such as hashish or opium as well as firearms. Both these products seemed to be Pakistan's biggest exports to the west. One was aware of whole factories manufacturing firearms and I have since learned that many of these weapons would be exported all over the world wherever there was a market for them, no matter what the buyer's politics were.

It was a pity that we raced through Pakistan on our way to India, as our limited experiences of that country were very positive and the inhabitants were open and friendly. Peshawar was only a quick shopping stop for me, where I paid an outrageous price for a Mars Bar in a western-style supermarket, ( 50 P.) Peshawar was remarkably modern. Lahore was just a blur as we flashed past, without even stopping as the drivers were in a great hurry and going at full pelt, doing without sleep and driving all through the night.

SIGGIS

Entertainment at Siggis was provided by some exciting, local musicians, who despite the presense of their Rolex timepieces, played well into the night. As I wandered back from these late-night eating places, I bought some 'brownies' for supper. These were pseudo­-American, chocolate cakes and they tasted delicious, especially by now as my taste buds were popping. It was during these late-night walks alone, that I encountered the loosely-termed, Afghan policemen, wrapped in well-worn and torn, greatcoats. l noticed that they were whistling to each other, eventually my curiosity got the better of me and I found out, that this was the normal procedure to ensure that each guard was either still alive or still awake. In their arms, these policemen carried huge, blunderbus rifles, with delightfully-carved wooden stocks, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. I never saw anyone fire or even attempt to fire one of these guns, which is perhaps just as well, as they really belonged in a museum.

Soon I was to gain respect for these Afghan supercops. On my last day in Kabul I was to come face to face with some of the higher and more efficient echelons of the Afghan police force. It is a day I will never forget. I had decided to spend a quiet, lazy day, hanging around the hotel restaurant. Some of us set up a card school and I was joined by three members of the bus party, who hailed from the romantically-named centre of the universe; Clacton. lt was an intense game and I recall that I was winning, when suddenly the door was pushed open in an amateur Starsky and Hutch routine and we were all held at gunpoint by Afghanis in western clothes claiming to be detectives. l thought it was a joke and they were merely acting out some scene from a Hollywood, forties detective movie. However their sincerity and the fact that these were real guns with real bullets, soon-dismissed any apparent doubts we had about the reality of it all. Our response was tragic.

AIl we could do in our state of nervous anxiety and blind panic was to stutter out an explanation apologising for our ignorance of Islamic law and codes of practice and the customs of our friendly, tolerant host country we were crawling so low we were scrapping the floor.

Evidently someone in the hotel, probably the manager, had sensed the possibility of a large payoff and telephoned the police. Our group-mind was thinking along the lines of stiff jail sentences in some dark dungeon or even of firing squads. Fortunately, we behaved very humbly (easy under the circumstances and continued to apologise profusely.

I did not have the temerity to suggest that we should bribe these detectives, (besides they all seemed too efficient and appeared dedicated beyond reproach), but I did mention the fact that a small forfeit would be in order, to repay these kind policemen for their time and trouble and for showing us the error of our ways.

We admitted that we were naughty, irreligious and sacrilegious and vowed never to do anything as criminal as play cards again in public. This did the trick and they reluctantly accepted some cash and left, and on the way out they warned us of the certain penalty that would await us, if we were caught gambling again. Actually they need not have bothered warning us, as we were so utterly terrified. This seemed a fitting climax to our stay in Afghanistan so we moved on.

And Then

..............laze about all day. During the evening, we would gather together in one room, buy some firewood and party all night. In the mornings one would think that it was Xmas, as the first sounds one would hear, would be the loud ringing of bells outside. This turned out to be the sound of horses and carts, that were covered in bells of every description.

The only vehicles we saw with engines, were brightly-coloured, wooden trucks. The designs on these vehicles were an art-form in themselves. This was folk-art at its finest.

It was difficult to leave Herat, as everyone was having such a good time, but the promise of even greater delights, drove us on to our next stop. The journey from Herat to Kandahar, even with an early start, took us a whole day and, as hotels were now very cheap.

I booked into the, aptly named, Mayfair Hotel, for 20 Afghanis per night. l ventured out for a late evening meal in a rather expensive, but good, restaurant and had boiled eggs and soup, before returning to my hotel for a sound sleep.. Next morning I awoke to find out that the other bus had arrived at 5.00.a.m. after driving through the night. Further inconvenience was due to some mad Afghanis shooting the back window out of the second bus. After the second driver had a four-hour nap, we left for Kabul. We were also to suffer considerable hardship as one of our front skylights had been shot to pieces. This meant we had a freezing 90 m.p.h. gale blowing through the bus en route for Kabul. We were also surprised to witness the startling evidence of a possible industrial revolution occurring in Afghanistan. ln Kandahar, we had been shown all the possible uses old rubber tyres could have e.g. black rubber shoes, water carriers, ,etc.,. Could Afghanistan be the future ecological capital of the world?

We arrived safe from any other sniper attacks in Kabul at 7.30 p.m. on Friday 14th. December. Hotels were luxurious, plentiful and above all, cheap. when I awoke, completely refreshed On Saturday morning, we had been away from home a whole month, and we celebrated this momentous occasion by having a hearty, breakfast that included; two fried eggs, toast, tea, jam and real butter. Equipped with all these extra calories, l was able to meander through cold, snowbound, Kabul streets. Feeling flush, I went on a mad spending spree. I purchased a fur hat (essential for this unrelenting chill) and swapped an old duffle-coat for a coveted, authentic Afghan coat. I may have made a crucial mistake in Kabul, as I recall buying kebabs in a street stall, perhaps this was where I picked up hepatitis germs. I would suffer for this error much later & I must admit that I was feeling unwell later that evening and I retired to bed early, falling asleep around 7.00.p.m. The next day I still felt strange, but I went out for a walk around town. lndeed there were lots to see and do in Kabul and I often deliberately lost myself among back alleys, only to come upon some friendly tea-house, where I would be made welcome.

On Monday night however, I visited some of the local tourist attractions, viz.,Siggis and Sammis. These restaurants had excellent, nutritious food and I remember sampling Weiner Schnitzel at Siggis, accompanied and washed down by numerous, glasses of terrific, sweet, mint tea.

Extract From a Traveller's Diaries

The Americans built one side of the road and the Russians built the other side, both attempting to win the hearts and minds of the people. I would suggest that the USSR was responsible for the left side, and the USA for the right side.

Of course the wise old Afghanis would court both sides and be allies of neither. From recent events, one could see the deep-felt, independence of the Afghanis and I dare say they would not be silly enough to be duped by the games played by the super powers. The inhabitants of this sparse country have long, bitter memories and they are still at war with the now-defunct,. British Empire. Who is going to tell these fierce Pathan tribesmen, that the British Empire no longer exists & one couldn’t help thinking that once they had sent the Russians home they would return to fighting their old enemy.

Future events would bring a totally new agenda to the table.

The Russians cannot win, they lack a fighting spirit, but the Moslems firmly believe in their Jihad and will gladly die fighting as Allah has guaranteed instant transport to paradise for any Moslem who dies in battle fighting the infidel.

By now I was well-aware of the Afghani hospitality. I had met some tribes on their way to Mecca, when our bus broke down in Iran, while we were waiting for spare parts from Meshed and I was seeking refuge in a tea-house, l experienced real Afghan hospitality, straight from the heart, no strings attached. On stepping through the door of the tea-house, and out of a heavy snow storm, l saw the fiercest-looking people I have ever met. They had a bizarre appearance, shaved heads with unnaturally red-coloured, beards, dripping onto their chests. They were crowded around the wood stove, and, as I drew nearer to the only source of heat in the room, they all seemed to back away and give me the prime position at the direct heat. I soon learned the rules of this world and when the next pilgrim came through the door out of the cold, I also moved away from, the stove to let him gain access to the heat. this brought a warm response from the Afghanis (not noted for their warmth), who threw their toothless, knowing smiles in my direction. Their hardened exterior, masked a reality of openness and acceptability. These people only possessed at most: a rifle, coat, blanket, wife, horse, and some sheep, but they always seemed to be happy and this was their main attraction for me. Values had to undergo a radical change when entering Afghanistan, after all a horse or sheep was evidently of more value than a woman or a wife. Naturally their lifestyle had sharpened them a great deal, and what these tribes knew about survival tactics would fill many volumes. Further evidence of this ability to survive under harsh conditions would be seem later, when the mujahadeen would live off the land while waging war on one of the super powers. One could almost say that Afghanistan was the Russians' Vietnam.

My admiration for these people was to increase during my short stay in Afghanistan, and one could easily see why so many overland travellers, never complete their voyage to India and remained in Afghanistan. The hotels catered for foreign travellers and pumped out western music all day and served delicious, western food, so it was tempting to..........(to be continued.........)

Tears of the Black Tiger





What attracted me to this dvd was the blurb: ‘mad as a bag of spiders’ (uncut) & my fondness for Thai westerns as a genre.

I did enjoy the beautiful photography & the psychedelic colouring that reminded me of Haphash & the Coloured Coat or was it Lothar & the Hand People on vinyl?

Disappointed there wasn’t enough craziness in the film unlike ‘Happiness of the Katakuris’, just psychedelic eye candy.

However too much madness can turn you crazy at breakfast. I vaguely remembered William R. Strickland’s ‘Is only the name’ from the late 60s early 70s but playing the cd this a.m frightened me so much I had to replay it instantly to check that it was real.

Easy Listening


When you start enjoying the music, not just the pretty girls on the above album, you know there is something seroiusly wrong with you! When you can listen to this album sandwiched between, Merzbow, the new improved beatles album, Electric Flag & a string quartet tribute to bob dylan, its time to take stock of your life & check where its heading:-)

Spending too long dwelling on the past...........

32 Years ago this month...............

I Am Going To Take You on a Journey

Even the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks


Big thanks to Gregor for the Trees!

More Memories

Happiness is:



Finally getting your grubby hands on Tonto's Expanding headband - Zero Time (little did I guess that little stevie wonder & the motown mavericks would buy up this duo lock stock & barrel, never allowing them to experiment again, unless it was to give stevie his whole 70s funk sound!), after you made the stupid mistake of selling the vinyl to get money for Edgar Broughton at the Maryland & some mood elevation from the old State Bar.


Also life is marginally better with the full re-mastered version of John Cale's Paris 1919 & eventually on cd: Tyrannosaurus Rex - My People Were Fair ............

Forgotten albums that fell between the cracks

This could be part 2 of an occasional series on a very personal trek across the great divide.

Before we all went out the other morning, I treated my wife & younger son to, what I can only describe as one the best albums I have heard, since the complete Jacques Tati soundtracks.

The album is by Karl Zero & its called Songs for Cabriolets & Otros Tipos De Vehiculos. Guarenteed to put a smile on your face before you go out to face the cruel world.

Another favourite of yours truly is ‘You are what you Eat’ (OST).Peter Yarrow (of Peter, Paul & Mary) sings ‘Moments of Soft Persuasion’ & ‘Don’t Remind Me Now of Time’ & ‘The Wabe’, that would make any sane man cry & John Simon’s ‘My Name is Jack’ are sequenced with a superb Electric Flag freakout. Perhaps I love this because I had it on vinyl at a crucial stage in my development.

Bruce Palmer (ex Buffalo Springfield)- the Cycle is Complete’.

David Crosby - If only I could Remember my Name

This Heat - s/t & Deceit

John Wall - Fear of Gravity & Alterstill (he has since distanced himself from Fear of Gravity’ as it relies heavily on classical music samples!)

Tranquillity Bass – Let the Freak Flag Fly

Kaminsky Experience – In Flight Entertainment & Espresso Espresso

Spooky Tooth & Pierre Henry – Ceremony

David Axelrod – Songs of Innocence & Experience

Comus – First Utterance -To Keep from Crying

Will Powers – Dancing for Mental Health

Zombies – Odyssey & Oracle

Pretty Things – SF Sorrow & Parachute

Hawk & Hacksaw – Darkness @ Noon

Nucleus (Ian Carr) – Belladonna & Elastic Rock

Quicksilver Messenger Service – Happy Trails

Moolah – Woe Ye Demons Possessed

Weather Report – I Sing the Body Electric & Tale Spinnin’

Exuma – Exuma

Skin Alley – s/t & To Pagham

Affinity – s/t

Gracious – This is

Mice Parade – All Roads Lead to Salzburg

Airto Lindsay – Invoke

Beach Boys – Holland

Edgar Broughton Band – Sing Brother Sing & Inside Out

Bobby Hughes Experience – Fusa Riot

Robert Mellin – ‘Robinson Crusoe’ (ost)

Stones – Their Satanic Majesties

Andrew Hodson – Map Music

Skyphone – Fabula

Brinsley Schwartz – Surrender to the Rhythm

Shuggie Otis – Inspiration Information

Alasdair Roberts – No Earthly Man

Eden Ahbez – Eden’s Island

Paul Giovanni – ‘Wicker Man’ (ost)

(to be continued…………………)

Happiness is a Warm Gun

Did everyone get Mr Lennon’s play on words when this track appeared on the ‘White Album’?

Cataloguing new books I came across an intriguing title by Richard Layard ‘Happiness’.

He states: ‘today most of us are richer, healthier, and have better homes, cars, food and holidays than ever before. But we are no happier than we were fifty years ago. What is going on?’

This certainly echoes my own beliefs. These thoughts have been with me since my sojourns into the Far East in the early 70s, where Buddhist concepts about the transitive nature of happiness/sadness & joy/sorrow often occupied a piece of my fertile mind.

Without getting too deep: how many times have you truly been happy in this life? How long did this feeling last?

Turning this around: how many times have you been so sad? How long did this moment last?

Free Your Mind

And your ass will follow. What with my younger son going to see James Brown in Glasgow & that informative documentary on George Clinton last night, we sure are having a funkee good time @ our house.

That was until I foolishly decided to take a week’s holiday & ended up with a debilitating cold/flu.

Keeping on that 70s funk theme, I am listening to Donny Hathaway singing ‘The Ghetto’ live as I write this. I must admit I was totally engrossed in the Motown sound when I was growing up & only came to the real deal later in life.

Its only a couple of years since I first obtained Funkadelic’s first album. It is so good. In fact most of the early albums are excellent. He did lose the place(some would say big style!). Last night’s documentary went a long way in explaining why this happened.

For me on a personal level, I think his biggest mistake was marrying Hilary, although she could be the next president of the USA, maybe that was the Mothership Connection.

Keeping the Memory Alive


You know some people think that as long as your offspring can still remember you living then you are still alive.

I can still remember what great pleasure this man gave to the world & how he improved my life.

I was astonished to learn that he had been one of the earliest teachers at Summerhill School. I mention this as I was fascinated with that method of teaching when I was young & in my prime & at odds with my own teachers.

He has always surprised me & even coming across his book of poetry in a prison library, where he ends each chapter with the number of miles from Glasgow, brought a smile to me even in the most trying times.

Full Text :COPYRIGHT 2006 Scotsman Publications Ltd.


INSTAL 06 *** THE ARCHES, GLASGOW


THE introduction to this year's programme brochure for Instal, Glasgow's annual weekend showcase of experimental and underground music, insists that "it's not a festival with anything to do with connoisseurship or elitism". For the uninitiated, however, the reality is rather different. To begin with, any remotely conventional understanding of "music" - defined in my dictionary as "the art or science of combining vocal or instrumental sounds (or both) to produce beauty of form, harmony and expression of emotion" - needs to be checked at the door.

This, in itself, is not necessarily a bad thing, of course. Anything calling itself "experimental" or "underground" is intrinsically at odds with convention, while quibbles about musicality are also sidestepped by the alternative term "noise art". There's plenty of scope for challenge, too, in the phrase "beauty of form", which in turn is arguably no prerequisite for "expression of emotion". Whatever you choose to call it, the sector of sonic creation and performance that Instal inhabits is a broad if uniformly unorthodox church, ranging from the outer reaches of free jazz to esoteric electro-acoustic experimentation, extremities of death-metal rock, and aurally-based conceptual art. It is evidently also highly debatable territory, with even apparently basic terms like "new" and "experimental" being open to question, given the 50-year history of such practice, traceable back to Cage and Stockhausen.

Be all that as it may, this year's sixth Instal programme couldn't be faulted for its diversity. Even in the field of free improvisation, for instance, approaches varied from the wild sax/drums duelling of US twosome Steve Baczkowski and Ravi Padmanabha to the rarefied, obliquely evocative dialogue between Japan's Kiyoharu Kuwayama on cello and Rina Kijima on violin. The violin, this time in digitally modified form, also featured in Tony Conrad's pairing with Keiki Haino, the latter switching between guitar, synthesiser and extraordinary multi-octave vocals. The deafening sonic stramash that ensued certainly scored high for visceral force, the violence of its assault offset by moments of undeniable grandeur. Kuwayama, meanwhile, also delivered a solo performance entitled Lethe, in which he applied blocks of dry ice to heated stainless steel surfaces, amplifying the vibrations created. This last piece exemplified a difficulty shared by several Instal acts, also including Lee Paterson's micro-manipulations of assorted objects on a tabletop and Tetsuya Umeda's customised rotary fans.

Even where the work seemed conceptually interesting - in Kuwayama's case, translating the physical opposition between extreme heat and cold into sound - the actual results often proved unenlightening, or tedious, or both. Elsewhere, Arrington de Dionyso's "shamanic" outpourings, via voice and bass clarinet, combined Asian throat-singing and human beat-box techniques to no obvious additional advantage. It must be said that a majority in the audience seemed already au fait with the "noise art" scene, and gave every appearance of enjoying themselves immensely.

For the interested newcomer, however, the aforementioned programme brochure offered precious little help in terms of history, context, theoretical background or clues as to the artists' intended purpose, with the result that much of the fare on offer elicited nothing but frustrated bafflement. Source Citation: "Reviews: INSTAL 06." The Scotsman (Edinburgh, Scotland) (Oct 17, 2006): 30.


I avoided it this year as I thought it was a trifle tame & uninspiring........................

Of Milkmaids & Architects

I know I really should get out more. I had the opportunity last night to go & see Martha Tilston & the Woods @ Oran Mor. This was my first visit to the Glasgow venue. I am old enough to remember it as a church. We used to live just across the road below the Grosvenor Hotel, when we were first married.

I recognised the support act from Milngavie Folk Club, The Metronomes & I was deeply impressed that first time I saw them & last night although plagued by dodgy sound engineering, they were even better. Watch out for this duo.

Martha Tilston I had never heard, although I knew her dad Steve’s work. Incidently he played Glasgow a couple of nights previously (why didn’t Martha mention this?). The stage was all decked out like a forest glade with mock fires, leaves…..etc & there was leafy & weird visuals. I was expecting some kind of Finnish psychedelic folk or some of the new American backwoods folk like Cul De Sac, Joanna Newsome, Vetiver…..etc.

However, I did not expect such a great performance. Her hirsute companions could have been the band straight from their Woodstock log cabin.

Outasight!

Mad Dog

As the late John Balance of Coil was singing @ 4.30 a.m. in our house ‘the only thing to fear is fear itself’.

I knew the recent documentary on ‘Suicide dogs’ @ Overtoun House bridge was coming on tv ages ago. We were all looking forward to a close detailed study of the urban myth. I have friend & family connections to the actual house, that is situated in the Kilpatrick Hills just above Milton (no not that one!).

My wife, best friend & twin cousins were all born there & I have been shown around the interior with its beautiful ceilings & ornate angels & other marvellous artistic works. It is a place of calm & beauty. My sister in law was not convinced of this, as we attended an Xmas service a few years ago & she was suspicious of the foxes, owls & other night creatures howling in the mist.

Anyway back to the story: since the 1950s, 50+ dogs have felt some kind of urge to leap off of this bridge to their death. My own cousin can verify this, although his own ‘wonderdog’ survived to tell the tale. Thus I knew the story was true although I was not aware that there was so many canine casualities.

Various tests were carried out to try & explain this phenomena during the programme, the most reasonable one being the presence of a large number of mink in the area & their heavy scent may have sparked off this impulse.

We relayed this story to the happy highlanders & now they have some way to threaten ‘Jura’ truly a mad dog among mad dogs.

One factor not mentioned in the documentary, that covered signals from the Faslane naval base…etc..was the presence of the Milton cat & dog home at the foot of the hill.

For myself I can live quite happily with the unexplained, the irrational. In fact, I much prefer alternative realities to the rather dull rational explanations.

Writing this I am longing to hear an old album that I am sure I would enjoy again from Joe Cocker ‘Mad Dogs & Englishmen’.

Black Swan

One of the Happy Highlanders thought my review of Bobby D’s new album was a bit harsh. Maybe it will grow on me. I will re-listen as soon as I get the time. I have just come off a back-to-back exposure to John Renbourn’s ‘9 Maidens’ & ‘Lady & the Unicorn’. I have recently seen John Renbourn live & I would have had the opportunity & I should have asked him about something that has puzzled me since I first encountered his solo albums. Why when he had discovered this beautiful medieval English sound did he stop making those terrific albums & make these pseudo Americano albums. A format that is more suited to other artists!


As usual Happy Highlander No 1 is on the same wavelength as he appeared yesterday with Bert Jansch’s new album ‘Black Swan’. On first playing I was deeply impressed by this cd. I am of course a sucker for Beth Orton’s vocals & she is all over this cd.

I mentioned earlier that I was re-discovering the Pentangle sound. I was drawing comparison with much of the new freaky folk from the US & Finland. Also this new breed of outsiders owes a lot to the Incredible String Band who are undergoing a new lease of life both in Aviemore & Clydebank.

Finally, this is not the correct forum to mention this, so I am not going to make any reference to Celtic’s return to their glorious form of old in the European theatre & their total annihilation of the quality opposition, that used to be the mighty Benfica.

All Things Must Pass

Listening to ‘Wonderwall’ finally after all these years of searching. No not that one ya ninny! Can you say ‘very freaky’ on this blog. Memories of Dec 73 on Colva Beach, Goa come flooding back. ‘All Things Must Pass’ was playing every day from a grass hut nearby. Somebody spoke & I drifted into a dream.

Paradise on earth, but with buying some of life’s little luxuries, I took my daily expenses up through the 5p per day ceiling. My extravagance knows no bounds.

Strange that this is the only piece of music that I can recall from that time. As a constant companion amid the squalor & the hunger & the real poverty, It was an ideal mantra for life in India.

Maximum Collateral Damage

Imagine the situation. You are still wet behind the ears & you desperately want to be part of the scene................'the swinging 60s' & all things groovy & then someone sticks this lp on the decks & its as if you had totally forgotten to breath, you get swept up in a mad mental maelstorm...........lifted up & cast aside.............you know that bit in movies now, where the director uses fast editing & movement becomes so fast & furious & erratic. This was the efect of listening to this album the first time. Now that I have listened to it so many times the impact has lessened slightly, but it is still for my money the best live album in the world ever. Ladies & gentlemen, I give you the MC5.