...released on th'airplanes vanity label grunt in th'early seventies came this power trio style blowout with lashin's o' hendrix vibes counter'd with some mellower grooves interspersed between th'heavy rockin'blooze...came as a bit o' a surprise at th' time cos most west coast heads were expectin' some warmed over/burnt out hippy shenanigans what with bein' on th'plane label'n they themselves not really doin' anything 'revolutionary' for a good coupla years...vaguely on th'same wavelength as kapt. kopter(randy california)this is a refreshin' blast o' late hard rockin' acid choogle with a sense o' humor'n good nature that will go down a nice treat with an afternoons bong...

...cats who dig th'boris groove will no doubt be down with th' fact they operate in different spheres o' th' stoner vibe, sometimes practisin' th' art o' slow motion riffin', other times lettin' loose with some punk metal thrash, whilst again dosin' up th' preceedin's with a chemical element like whats goin' on with this feedbacker wax...liberally squirted with a heavy tab o' sandoz th' boris-machine heads off for th' plateau that was first navigated by frisco stoners, th' oxford circle'n th' dead when they were gettin' freaky with such madness as 'heavy air'...it dont altogether sound like those combos back in th' day(temporal lines bein' restricted by gravitational physics) but th'freeform landscapes're hew from th'same ideas, th' same wish to escape th' boundary o' sound, go beyond th'accepted known o' this thing called rock('nroll)...zoned-out rushes o' LSD splutter around in meanderin' patterns, wigged moments o' hallucinatory grandeur, clear crystal reasonin' arrives briefly, only to be replaced as expansion continues, ever outward, ever inward, both movements revealin' themselves as th' same, th' middle ground betwixt two worlds o' wobblyness...

...sonic mayhem from th'land o' th' risin' sun, boris come to lay down th'acid vibe'n blast some cheerian blooze into th' air, molecules reboundin' off each other to gather into one giant hash explosion...slow motion riffin' expandin' ever onward towards infinite history o' th' moment, reverbaratin' into th' next world, crossin' dimensional parallels with th' ease o' liquid smoke, meltin' only to be reborn into th' echo from which all matter is formed...time begins'n ends while th' disk is playin',suspendin' space in th'deepest o' universal breathe...lysergic intensity from th'primordial swamp oozes its way into th'mindsoup that washes up against any hipsters inner cranial workin's, clearin' paths in th' emerald forest o' thoughts, sendin' signals to start th' kildozer o' fire to bombard th' synapse with heavy heavy gloop...set th' controls on stun'n prepare for realignment with th' sludgy voodoo o' amplifier worship...IT IS TIME to submit...

...excellent first wax from th'soft's,all th'more remarkable for bein'taped quickly in th'middle o' a tour o'uncle sams autocrazy(1968),everythin' is in place,at least for this LP,psychedelic pop with avant jazz moves vearin' in'n out makin' it flow,lazy groovin' on warm afternoons by th'river bank indulgin' in a tab o' high class sandoz...this is singular pop-psych in th'way th'floyd first disk was,its psychedelic in a free-form way,though structured nothin' sounds as it would last,a fleetin' moment in th'tributary o' rock'nroll,complicated arrangements for pop tunes that have a commerciality yet are not sellin'themselves in th'market place, they last as long as they last,no more no less,while some cats list'nin' they're doin' what they were written for,to comunicate th'NOW,both bands bought th'fun side o' avant garde to play in th'tunes,plus interestin' lyrics...they'd been together for about four years,in various shapes'n forms by th'time this came around'n it shows they'd learnt to work very loosely yet tight,in th'best possible way,th'jazz way,th'interminglin' o'ideas'n playin' is wonderful,not a bit seriously po-faced as some o' th'later work,th'name shoulda been changed after th'third disk...th'whole canterbury scene in some ways is built entirely on possibilities thrown up by whats happ'nin' within th'walls o'th'groove...

...second effort from th'soft machine,carryin' on from where th'first left,perhaps th'jazzbo tones were turned up slightly,not quite as pop but th'original softs sense o' humour is still intact,not too much po-faceism(yet),everythin' groovin' nicely...theres a jazz-rock vibe happ'nin' throughout but its not jazz-rock as it came to be recognised,th'machine probably dont realise its happ'nin',just movin' along natrually,doin' it as it comes...theres a political conscious at work,a layabout beatnik way o' lookin'at things,through th'distorted reality mirror that true original thinkers'n pioneers view th'world...freeform avant noodlin' comes into play as if suddenly they're all hit with a giant LSD rush,a whole trip takes place in a few seconds then fades away,to return later with more bubbles'n reflections...very much a worthwhile spin'n a great example o' london,via canterbury 'underground' rock from th'club years o' th'late 60's...

...wilde flowers from canterbury was an early configuration o' some o' th' cats that would hook up in th'soft machine/caravan axis to produce some hep vibrations on th' psychpopjazz front later in th'sixties...bo diddley beats mixin' up mose alison with bohemian wispyness...suburban hipsters carvin' out a mod jazz world buried in th'albion countryside away from th'city blare, sailin' reefer'd dreams on th' village pond, lazy afternoons o' jazz ponderin', connectin' 125th street with doses o' sandoz from th' hollingshead institute for expandin' HEPocity...modal blather navigatin' th' wobbly marshmallow midnights o' th' homeward night bus to th' twilight zone...th'scratchy state o' some o' these acetates give th' archival nature o' th'release an authentic glow, field recordin's from th' middle class basement o' stolen marijuana moments...

...second volume o' crazed early throb noise,racket from th'dead zone,music indeed from th'death factory,th'wreckers o' civilization had come to assault th'ears o' anyone who was near...sounds for th'collapse o' society,1984 in '76,coseys guitar stranglin',genesis bashin' his bass'n squealin' on th'violin with occasional shoutin' plus treatments from sleazy'n chris make this a stew to be waded through by all adventurous'n right thinkin'cats...back in th'day this was undoubtably progressive swill for cats who didn't know they liked that type o' music, sounds that would creep up from behind'n give th' noggin' a right wallop...best enjoyed when least expected...

...diggin' this throbs tape o' early work a cat can easily see th'gristle as some kinda missin' link between progrock/DADA(or at least annoyance in th'name o' ART)/D.I.Y space rock/th'sound o' tomorrow,take from that what ya will,they may well have been th'consumate rockin'prog outfit o' all time...this tape o' throb-natious swill comes from studio experiments durin' 76'n its all here;pink floyd style jammin'from 69/70(th'best years o' th'second incarnation o' floydianess)//hawkind bad acid journeyin',floatin'around some dirty squat high on bath-tub psychedelix//some twisted riffin' like CAN were rockin'out with,theres kraut rock vibes in th'throb-groove but it aint necessarily a conscious part,more due to chris carter bein' a bit on th'muso side than anything GEN.P would be thinkin'about...theres some live stuff but it mostly sounds more in th'studio live than a proper stage appearance which have been documented fairly well over th'years...side one cuts off rather sudden which aint too cool cos that riffin' was goin' on'n on, blastin' away,anyhow th'other side gets off to some genesis verbiage then onto creakin' space rock, which would really getta floyd'fan' down with its trancey repition,which is something to be appreciated even now,th'floyd just wern't cuttin it after dark side,this is th'sorta junk they shoulda been doin',this could be like they were at th'london free school' in 66, jammin' with AMM (it woulda been a total blast if th'floyd were knockin' this noise out durin' punk,there'd be some awkward journalistic turns in th'english music papers,melody maker wouldn't have a clue where to start,this is really up syd's alley,easy to see him groovin' on this trip)...th'second side also ends abruptly...this is for all cats who might be under th'misaprehension that th'throbs aint for them,gristle noise should not be confused with th'copycat industrialists that came after them...

...here we see on th'25th february 69 jim in th'studio with his bandmates gettin' ready to record some ideas for th'next waxin' th'eventual misunderstandin' known as th'soft parade...on this evenin's session jim is despondent with th'state o' whats happenin' all across th'disunited amerikkkas: th'hippys aint gettin' their groove on like they should(or at least how morrison thinks they should), jim sees most o' teenage amerikkka as just robots followin' th'latest trends they picked up from hit parader/16 magazine'n bought into with threads from sears at th' backend o' nowhere, located somewhere off consumer main street...he sees th' uptight whiskey generation bearin' down with heavy avengence on th'young who refuse to go to war, who refuse to kill'n be killed for some pigs on wall street, who refuse their patriotic right to do as they're told'n follow orders to slaughter in th'jungle far away...th'suburban teens who're comin' to doors gigs're just lookin' for spectacle, for th'cheap thrill o' th' moment, to live their lives through voyeuristic eyes watchin' others live th'moment(ie, jimbo)...jim saw a land where th'populace were bein' poisoned with th'products o' cheap over farmin',cheese/milk/cream were cloggin' th'people at alarmin' rates, th'ability to think was bein' weighed down by obese laziness bought on by said dairyness...morrison couldn't understand why this generation as a whole were refusin' to break on through, to take th'trip to th'end o' th' night, sure, some got th'message, heeded th'call but not enough, jim was aghast these kids could not see beyond th' 'town limits'...was morrison wastin' his time throwin down this rockin' blooze poetry, should he stay in th' bars o' hollywood talkin' with th' real people, th' lost'n drunk, should he hang with th' so called flotsum'n speak o' th' wonders that coulda been...on this evenin' jim declared rock is dead'n himself was left standin at a crossroads, whether to submit to th' corporate machine or continue his now doomed ride to to th' other side o' endsville...

...with this desertshore joint,nicos third wax, she enter'd deeper into cavernous otherworlds she had been sinkin' toward for some considerable time,into th'uncontrolled subterranean feelin's that can submit a human to desperation...its old world cabaret meets future-time-folk in th'basements o' 42nd street where everythings for sale at a price that may eventually be too much, safety is gone, illusions o' safety crush with th' nightmare morbidity that is common currency...avant europe meets junkies dronin' for a fix, lookin'for another ride to a better place...john cale helps out keepin' th'lessons learnt in th'early sixties in th'avant circles o' NYC with some free expression thrown around addin' to th'chilly atmosphere thats chokin' to be heard...nico does go a bit hippy with th'allowin' o' her small son to sing a ditty but its in keepin' with th' times, it helps define th' moment this LP was conceived'n bought to fruition...journey to th'end o' th'world with nico, take her hand'n wash in her tears for this will surely cleanse th' soul...

...one things for sure with this platter'n that it belongs in a time'n space only visited by a select few...it didn't hook up with many back in 68'n really it doesn't connect with too many today cos it's just outsider music in th'true sense o' th'word...this is outside cos it aint inside'n if to be inside means to be part o' somethin'n the only thing this is part o' is itself...it stands alone 'n apart as a true expression o' avant-theater full o' frozen moments that refuse to fade once they have been glimpsed'n their power unleashed...all set to crisp stark'n dark dronin' folk noises that move in circular fashion from an unknown mystical europe from a time yet to become known...written by nico'n arranged by cale this is th'reverse o' th' velvets coin or indeed th' value is higher than a velvets disk, knocked out by th'true artists in th' combo'n not th' exploito/opportunist faction...also an interestin' note that somehow fits in with this whole otherworld/times-unknown vibe is th'producer, one frazier mohawk (real name o' barry friedman which somehow doesn't fit th' picture), did some schoolin' in his formative years in a gaff run by aldous huxley, another true outsider...

...nicos first solo offerin' is very much o' its time, bein' a mix-up o' hauntin' folk'n sophisticated lounge with some chamber/light classical pop thrown in, its like th'concert hall meets some tranced out hootenaney on heavy medication, th' styles'n nuances o' style're forever bein' entwined in some new tapestry where familiar patterns're render'd into last week with regulatory precision...each tune is in th'right position on th' disc whether nicos bein' backed by lou/cale or jackson brown, two extremes in singer/songwriter circles, everything is groovin' in an urban fashion, future folk, indeed, a post folk future, 30 years before those sorta post this'n that PR scams/hooks to hang new clothes on, became hot currency...this is th'strange world o' back alley junkys buyin' th' moment with their mind, explodin' on sixth avenue for all th'straights to see'n be envious o',th'world where desperation takes hold'n surrender is th'only exit, th'dice could fall on any number o' options but how to know th'right one, is there a right one, could it ever exist, this is nicos world...it was about this time in th' season that she came to hang out with jim morrison who came to th'conclusion that nico, bein' a singular solitary character, should write her own songs'n create th'art in her own image, which was what came to pass with her next LP(marble index)...th' stereo is a bit inbalanced which gives an outta-focus kilter laid over th'top, addin extra texture to th' already unsteady landscape o' dreams...this shoulda been on elektra not MGM who did'nt know nothin' about nothin' about any underground musical endeavours, but even elektra wouldn't be able to market nico to th' student bedsitter hippy brigade, her most obvious path if commercialism ever came within her grasps...

...there's enough squeak'n squonk on this platter to satisfy any acid head, even th'most jaded, so much so that any cat not diggin' this slop need to get outta town this instant, get outta dodge city cos th'free clinic is handin' out some hotcha drugnacious tabs in th'form o' vermonster, this is th'ticket to get a move on-get a groove on...th'vocals got a massive stoned punk sound'n vibe puttin' th'investigative cat to a notion this is in a deviants/fairy landscape which is top swillage indeed with any head who knows th'score...lurchin' three legged drum patterns add to th'disorientation o' th' trip, sorta part cyclical/trance moves like group 1850s 'trip to mother earth' wax, part primo wiggy floydian beats'n sometimes its just wobbly off kilter abouncin' in a spazzed out rubber room...a free(k)form frenzy on gloop flights o' mystical floatation...buzzin'n scapin' through 40 minutes o' air disturbance - a sonic bomb'n boom constantly rearrangin' molecules into untried patterns, patterns o' hallucinatory realism, movin' unbalanced in a imbalanced sphere...escape to th'twilight zone for a trip approved by rod serling himself if he coulda gotten free from TEEVEEland...mind altered choogle for th' long trip to th' other side, break on through with th'spirit o' yma, nothin' to lose but th'chains o' homogeneous broke down society...jump start th'grey matter with this pinacle effort o' chemical splatter, long voyages to beyond th'distant shores o' th' bubblin' mind soup, get th'GONE perspective, after this only yesterday is certain...undo th' rivets o' conformity'n fly to th' summit, to th'peaks o' th' world'n ever onward, dont look back, even for a second...

...messed up urban voodoo castin' spells from th'dream factory,th'insanity house where th'normal way is twisted until it blurs into a half remember'd nightmare,frightful but compulsive, full o' desires'n hatred...disintergratin rhythm weaves its way round minimal thud'n drone,bleak landscapes o' dust'n decay,forlorn times...mangled guitar escapin' into th'ether,sometimes hangin' like a thick carpet o' reefer smoke,blottin'out th'light but providin' a different illumination,this is from within,enlightenment,with extra explodin' colours(yeah)...a folky prog sound takes over on track 3 which is kinda like an extension o' th'velvets/pere ubu/'n throbbin'gristle when they were in a good mood all taken into th'sunbaked californian weirdness o' post 70s conformity,th'rise o' th'new right...some NO WAVE bleat turns up a coupla times with more velvet guitar screech'n feedback,cheap drum box certainly informs th'list'ner o' time'n space,those sounds really sound odd now, a new tribal callin' but strangely polite(a combos gotta know how to get with it with these cheapo synth bleep'n rattle cos theres a thin line to boredom here,something that must be avoided,unless its some ART statement then its every cat to their own devices, no blame will be attributed)...syd barrett gets a look in on th'seventh tune, thats kinda cool,maybe unintentional but they must dig syds way o' seein' th'world,they're kinda travellin along th'path started in th'psychedelic light show days,hallucinatory this surely is,they also musta got a groove on with th'brian jones jajouka LP cos theres some nice off kilter eastern wailin' drones happ'nin, slidin'their way in with some conviction, avant tribal...very nice,worthy o' a few spins...

...excellent racket from factrix in 1981,screechin' in a throbbin' gristle way,noise gratin at th'edge o' chaos,slightly velvets some o' th'time(66/67 when cale was lettin rip with th'avantisms)...a heavy disturbin' vibe informs this swill pile o' mangled rusty nails,sun baked acid madness standin' at th'periphery o' a gapin' chasm o' vile entrails...when monte cazazza comes on th'vocals theres a kinda doors groove goin' on but it don't sound like th'doors,maybe jim morrison was checkin' them from somewhere out there in th'netherworld...creakin''n chuggin' through a landscape o' neurosis,nerve endins' janglin''n fryin' with electricity,a bad drug eruption from th'ugly side o' town...distressin' visions from th'hideous truth that envelopes th'world,a mirror through which th'onlooker must pass to come to some new awareness,a new state o' conscious bein',coughin' up inflamed ulcers from th'very guts o' rock'n roll creatin' another kinda trash thats mighty fine when played with th'volume on stun...

...monte cazazza first come to prominence on th'underground scene when he hooked up with throbbin' gristle in around 1977'n produced some images 'purportin' to be th'execution o' gary gilmore,it was just cosey/gen/monte strapped in chairs lookin' like they were ready to be offed,it got shown on some square media'n a few t-shirt sales ensued so theres alwyays a bit o' bread to be made hoodwinkin' th'gullibles...he'd been makin' a nuisance o' himself since th'early seventies with various 'art' shenanigans' n small press magazines'n then th'throbs allowed him some time to produce a coupla singles in th'late 70 which're included on this compilation o' various gubbins from past exploits...some o' th'later trx aint so cool bein' a bit on th'synthy pop side but no doubt he annoyed some cats with even that venture so who's to know, its all worth a list'n or two...confrontational art terrorism in pop is commonplace nowadays,havin' reached saturation point some time back,bein' devalued to th'extent that it is easily assimilated to be part o' th'capitalistic way o' business life,possibly this will upset some liberals'n politically 'correct' phonies who will be uptight with this so maybe its even better than we could hope for...