...right from th'get-go a cat knows what gonna happen with this wax, its off kilter rockin' in th' stooge way, th' only way, th'way thats trod only by fools'n angels, th'road to complete oblivian o' th'senses, cleanin' th'synapes o' societies debris...a double waxin' cos th'groove is too big'n heavy to be contained on one disc, th'noise poundin' comes in waves o' spillage'n one disk is way too small a surface to get th' goods rollin'n tumblin',feedback leakin' out every crevis, lookin' to destroy th'dullard...though th'stooge vibe is th'workin' base theres plenty room for tangental information like festival era pink fairies'n punked out splatt like flipper'n th'sleepers(great lost san francisco combo from back in th'day)plus a messed up spacerock vibe, but not no ambient space jive,this ones gotta be an armed death star battle cruiser expungin' whole galaxies in its wake...sometimes wailin out th' lonesome sound o' mutatin' memphis rock-a-daddies at a slow pace, not lethargic, more like pullin' th'weight o' keepin' th'drugs in check, sometimes on th'verge o' collapse'n sometimes just kickin' up a riot packed storm, its all part o' day-to-day life for monoshock who operated on'n off through th'nineties, keepin'th'wail from goin' pale...cranial bustin' swill straight up fulla swamp gas'n fire crackers hittin' th'preordained target, this is not for squares'n nerds who like to keep it polite, this is a jail break from some other dimension....like th'needles o' armageddon these cats come to shake it with th' faithful with th'righteous rock'n roll vibe'n wipe out th'pretender rockers, th'careerists that were lurkin' in every space'n place through th'later years o' th' 20th century...monoshock had no time for capitalist lackys'n hollywood wannabe trend poppers, these cats scrape like pure free spirit jazz skronk like th'NYC loft cats from those 1960s daze...they were believers in th' dream, liberators o' th'id'n idea, art damaged on a street level, no pretentions to anythin',WHAT IT IS is th' all o' everythin' th' sum total o' WHAT IT IS...kickin' th' gong with these heads is somewhat near th' perfect way to laze up th' afternoon sun cruisin' th'mind bubbles in a homemade dune buggy...

...th' title trk runs for about forty minutes'n is a heavy cosmic ethno jam that just keeps on goin', into th'ether'n beyond...somewhere out in th' nether reaches o' space its still goin', boppin' th' universe, bein' checked out by space cats from many moons away, way over yonder...guitar/flute/organ/dulcimer plus th'all prevailin' hand drum from angus clatter along on th' ever expandin' journey from inner consciousness to otherness...floatin' down th'dreamtime river,th'sounds washin'up against th' list'ner, purifyin' th' mindsoup with smokes o' wobblyness,never standin'still, always movin' in th'ordained patterns o' requirement...th'rest o' th'disk is similar grooves, th'vibe is cool'n restful,delicate but fired with desire to reach th'furthest points o' imagination...deterge th'soul with flames o' enlightenment as th' misty veil o' livin' is lifted to show th' way to nirvana...

...great dollops o' squeakyness roll off th' platter with strenuous yet easy assurance, seemingly random sounds flutter with highly drilled precision, everything is in th' right place cos there is no wrong place when th' planets align for an AMM recordin' session...avant garde theorists gettin' busy in th' nascent london underground scene that was gettin' bigger by th' day, ever since th' poetry gig at th' albert hall in 65 bought all th' beatnix, cafe hooligans, students(left wing variety), layabout mods together to form th' sightly tribe known by th' media catchall as HIPPY...this art school enviroment was just th' place wobbly jazz cats like AMM needed to extemporise their groove, spread th' cut up sound poems to all who cared(not too many, but thats a given in th' avant world)'n maybe some who didn't know...hangin' with combos like soft machine/pink floyd/deviants AMM got to know a bit about th' rock'n roll psychedelia that was runnin' parallel in art schools/UFO club'n other distinctly obscure place o' high lurkin'...clang'n drone go th' sound,scrape'n hit bubble into th' ether, this is th' sound o' bein' born, bein' formed into somethin' whole, somethin' unique, tangible yet fleetin' moments glue to one another, there is no beginin', no end, just th'ongoin' 'n ever present NOW,inner imagination meetin' th' outside collective thought, individuals becomin' one entity, that entity made into individuals workin' for th' good o' th' whole...radios play th' outside world, becomin' part o' th'inside AMM world, bringin' th' chance syndrome into play,th' unmonitored bein' allowed free reign to mingle with th' clutter o' trumpets'n rattles...recorded over a couple o' weeks in june 66 this is way outside th' rockin'pop dalience o' th' times yet strangely as th' new century progresses it seems like it was th' centre o' all new things, such is th' all encompassin' vibe, suckin' th' list'ner into somethin' like a complete remold o' all that is known, a rejiggin' o' all available circuits...a clatterin' investigation o' th'inner psyche, a re-invention o' th'loomin' infernal machine as saviour, an escape through th' keyhole o' th'once unlockable door...basically whats on offer here is th' real deal when it comes to fusion anywhere near a jazz context, its free spirit jazzbo meets avant with a heavy dose o' sound poems givin' harmony to disharmony, a precursor to th' freaked out milieu that was to come in 68 when th' whole world turned upside down'n tumbled into th' computer chip state...AMM tell th' list'ner to be at one with machines but be dominant, theres no room for indulgence when th' downpressor state is ever vigilant,always loookin' for another firm grasp on th' will o' all righteous cats...

...th' main reason most cats outside avant circles have even heard o' angus is th'fact that he percussioned with th'nascent velvet underground but had to leave round'bout late 65 cos he deemed they were gettin' too commercial by acceptin' some low paid gig...this allows some insight into his world view, which did not countenance havin' any bread with art, an artist must be pure, not contaminated with such vulgar concepts o' consumerism, that was for bourgeoisie squares, society leaches who know nothin' o' th'pain'n sufferin' th' true artist must endure to enable his craft to evolve...to soar above th' earth, break free o' constriction, reach outward were th'doctrines angus lived by,to float on th'eternal river o' NOW...th'disk in question here has plenty o' bongos'n hand drums beatin' out th' score laid down by th' ancient ones, th' rhythm o' th' planet flowin' through his blood into th'open, caressin' th' skins with power to harness th' universal spirit...there some spooky organ'n flutes'n tambura addin' to th' mix givin' off cool reefer'd vibes, reachin' for th' unobtainable moment, th'comin' together o' dreamtime'n real time, driftin' toward th' dawn o' a new era not yet born...th'main reason for gettin' cosy with this disk is th'near 45 minute work out (dreamweapon benefit) where th' whole thing breaks into a wigged out jazz-jam that has no visible means o' stoppin', th' joint just keeps on rollin',pullin' th' minutes from th' air'n suspendin' their tenure from skyhooks, to stay forever without repeatin'...this is flipped to th' max,a heavy slab o' sandoz groovyness, th' walls will vanish to reveal th' real deal, suitable for all beatnix'n cafe hooligans wherever they may hide...

...sometimes when th'spirit takes ahold o' such notions that a walk on th'wild side is in order then once again it seems its time to swing by jacks crazy pad on ludlow street where some 'o her pals have dropped by for more fun'n frolix...as always th'on fire presence o' maria montez is present 'n takin' her rightful place as muse for every creative breathe jack takes...kickin' th'gong at jacks place will surely be a cure for 21st century conformist blooz 'n all its attendent bad trip hang ups...

...layabouts who been keepin' their finger on th'pulse, ear to th'ground 'n peepers on th'long rollin' skies know th' hep sixties started sometime in th'late fifties(if'n not before) 'n by th'early 60s everythin' was in full swing...th'sixties that th' media squares harp on about is th'trendy later days when it was all up for grabs 'n th'geetus mongers were startin' to coin it in, th'real culture had gone underground 'n wouldn't resurface until mid seventies...(as a case in point,this is hyped as early velvets connection with tony conrad/angus macclise sittin' in on cymbals n' drone)...th'disk is soundtrx 'n spoken word blather o' top crazy crazed, camp 'n damaged aural swill from th' 62/4 period, 'n hotcha gibberin' it is too...cats needin' to cop a gap in th'patterns o' reality should cruise on over 'n hang with jack'n her pal francine'n hear th'world from different perspective...

...originally put out in an edition o' one thousand 3disk set(each wax was a different colour) in '67 as a fundraiser for th' free speech movement which was rapidly mutatin' into anti-nam militant peacenix in berkeley...its beatnik folk jams groovin' in a chemically active environment let this meander in trancy wiggedout spaces...a groovy lobeful that'll make any afternoon o' layabout inclination'n hooligan activity a mighty hep tyme...cats understandin' th'relative time'n space principal o' one minute sometimes bein' longer than a day will dig this from th'first moment...a worthy artifact o' different days...

...bein a radical free thinker ol' charles eventually found himself engaged in a thought control war with th'mind seizure agents o' amerikkka n' at this present juncture that state o' affairs is still fairly ongoin'...back in 68 things were slightly different as he showed forward thinkin' by beatin' all those singersongwriters up in laurel canyon to th'punch by puttin' his thoughts into songpoetry...if'n some kinda wax deal coulda been forthcomin' a lotta cats coulda bein spared from gettin' their lobes infested with th'70's me generation whingers'n whiners that polluted th'airways o' f.m stations across th'planet...this copy is from th'original wax that popped into head shops while th'trials were keepin' th'public elbow deep in salacious paranoia...dig charlies world view'n wonder if he knows more than he should...

...psychedelic underground indeed, th' first issuein's from amon duul that came about from th'reef'red bongo sessions that happen'd in munich 68, th'year o' th'barricades, th' past was rapidly becomin' another country that students world wide were tearin' up their passports from, th'old guard were trashin' th' life from students/workers in various euro locales'n th' duul reflected th' chaos'n carnage in their work,riffs jammin' out th'electric spark thats needed to sustain existence,testifyin' in strange tongue'n th' ever present cosmic bongos givin' up th' trance, invocatin' th' higher bein's...sailin' th'inner high-ways'n by-ways o' th'nervous system th' duul groove ever onward, fluidly traversin' th' LSD plateau with tape cut ups added on for good measure, more disorientatin' shock waves that mirror th'outside society...th' wax is groove heavy with primal thump power, th' bongos drummin' out to call to th' faithful'n any stray converts that come along lookin' for a better way, lookin' for a path into a different future that th' one already mapped out by th' robber barons o' capitalist piggy enterprises...amon duul call for a new pageantry, a splendour full o' beatnik verbiage,only now th' structure o' livin' becomes timeless, poems o' hope stretch out across th'seas to all humanity...'what is now shall forever be' seems th' duul message, that its time to get hip' or else be doomed by th' perpetuel grindin' o' th' machine'n back in '68 this was a very real predicament for free thinkers as well as th' great unwashed...this wax,plus th' follow ups represent a time when rock'nroll was important, it had th' power to shake th'walls o' establishment thinkin', to rearrange th' furniture o' hierarchy'n swim to th' moon with th'always insistant bongo beat...

...an exploitational waxin' that was recorded when th' trials started to keep th'family in th'public eye,as if th'public needed remindin',th'rich squares were in a panic to th'degree th'family were in their dreams, castin' creepy crawl nightmares across nixons land...this white vinyl platter was released in th' mid 80s'n its sound is somewhat more expansive than th'subsequent compact disk issues, its like cappy/squeaky/ouisch/brenda/gypsy/sandy'n clem're in th'room with th'listener in th'centre...this may be more GETTIN' TH' FEAR than is absolutely needed but th'chance to hang with this freaky crew comes on big here, they're right up front in full effect...clem does a passable attempt at gettin' to th'core o' manson lyrics but it comes down to th' girls to keep things goin' with their devils hole cheer leadin', layin' down th'death valley gospel with some heavy amount o' gusto, wailin'n moanin'n laughin', bein'down with their very own distinctively singular aquarian love vibes...ride th' helter skelter into th'heart o' darkness with th'garbage people, th'girls on th'corner await th'final judgement, which it seems is yet to be written...

...heres more o' those legendary jams that th'original duul, th'commune duul from munich put down in 68, fuellin' a few releases over th'comin' years o' which this seems to be th' last, comin' out in 1983 as a double wax...th'jams have been chopped into shorter, more economical bursts, th' longest comin' in at 6 minutes,which gives th'whole shebang a more rocknroll attack, th'riffin' givin' off total insane vibes like th' monks were doin' at basement dives at various locales throughout west germany,riffin' madness from within th' deep commune psych, stoned'n happ'nin' with liberal amounts o' bongo bop headin' full on to tomorrow...thrashin'n moanin' tribal noise, reachin' into th'night,reachin' for impossible highs,searchin' out th'truth that only beatnik hooligans can realise, th' truth that is hidden from th' square world by its very existence, a truth so enormous it would crush th'cubes world view as they would have to admit all is wrong in dullsville...spinnin' this joint is like diggin' some alien jukebox escapin' from a parallel galaxy,familiar yet unfamiliar,turnin' points on a map thats freshly drawn from newly charted investigations...

...third offerin' from duul2'n this pretty much seals th' deal, whats gonna be happenin' over th'ensuin' years is somewhere to be found on th' space trippin' tanz de lemming, th'ultimate declaration o' intent...th'untrained ear o' th'first two wax gave th'sound impetus, to go further regardless o' technical knowhow, what came out was meant to be from th'riffin' to th'ambience o' th'room, th'complete fractured entity was ordained from a higher source(th'source that gave th'elevators their whole bein',also th'godz another channelin' combo)...again a double wax holdin' some o' th'HEPpest jams from any band gettin' lumped into th''progrock' idiom, it takes amon duul2 into a territory that at th'time was their own...somehow they managed to take th'avant trippy grooves into a hallucinatory sphere that is not easy to define, theres a subtle keenness hidin' under th'doomy vibe givin' hope to th'uncertain times in which they operated(possble police state resurrected to counteract baader meinhof activites)...strange worlds appear'n leave whilst this joint is spinnin',thousand moons cross th'sky in an instant,alien visitors drop by to hang then they're gone, leavin' half awake memories in floatin' dormitories o' th'ever tiltin' mindsoup...waves o' perfect accompaniment to those bonged out afternoons cruisin' th'edge o' flip city lookin' for th'entrance way to play, this waxin' will slip a cat th'secret o' th' sacred keyhole, th' unlockin' o' forever time, to range th'open skies in blissed tranquility, noddin' to t'noodle o' th'mighty duul...

...second wax from duul2, this time a double to accommodate their expandin'/expansive soundscapes that were rapidly oozin' outta their collective thought patterns,rockin' out in a primitive style yet clearly not a rehash o' beat groups R&B from th'earlier decade, this is 1970 with all th' expectant baggage that entailed, namely progressive rock with a heavy euro bent...avant garde ideas mix it up with dronin' folk fiddlin'/scratchy guitar strummin'/dislocated whistlin'/time slippin' drum beats/operatic vocalizations/modal chants/bursts o' electric string fire, plus who knows what else, every time a cats spins this theres gonna be new noises poppin' up, fresh'nin th'opiated stew'n thats just th' first track...all over this platter theres magnificence, whether it be ancient/modern folk scrapin'n moanin, or poundin' acid rock, th'whole deal shouts to be heard as if knowin' its own importance, an importance that transcends amon duul themselves, they channel a groove from outside knowledge which is somehow sucked into th' duul psyche'n manifested in multi dimensional psychedelic peculiarities...a heavy gloom hangs over th' work, lendin' th'musical backdrop to life in 70s germany, a time o' radical chic/offin' pig-politicians/celebratory bank robbers/self style liberationists'n general paranoia'n weirdness...so far away from th'psychedelic ballroom rock that it springs from yet at th'same time mirrors it through a prism o' positive difference, th' whole shebang takin' off for unknown territory with a torn road map from alien lands...its like a bad drug hangover from acid'n speed coctail, where th'colours flash by in swirlin' spiked ornamentation,full o' danger, th'kinda danger that attracts th' curious into darkened basements o' desire...a journey into inner space whilst ridin' th' subway late at night, full o' shadows'n strange vibes that beckon th'wanderer to enter'n never return, a gateway to th' other side(o' where is always undecided until its too late)...

...growin'outta th'munich commune scene o' th' late 60s amon duul 2 was th'muso offshoot o' that bongo clangin' tribe amon duul who'd put out one LP from th'massed jams they'd instigated(they'd plunder these jams for more LPs as time 'n record co. moolah permitted)in 68...one o' th' great krautrock exponents they put out a cosmic abberation o' underground rock sound, an inversion o' th'yanquee variety o' ballroom psych, this was acid rock with a sting, it upgraded th'amerikkkan template with dronin'avant squeaks/operatic outbursts/chantin'/cyclic off kilter beats/fuzzy skronk guitar slammin', basically throttlin' th'commerciality o' uncle sams tirade over th' european culture...amon duul threw off th'yoke o' bland yanquee imperialism to get busy with a sound o' rebirth, a rediscovery o' self for a generation who'd been lied to by business/TV/teachers, they no longer served an absent master, they were themselves makin' a future sound...locked inside a gothic surround, th'ancient peoples make a noise to call th' faithful, th'desirous ones who need freein' from th' network propaganda peddlin' th'USA commands, freein' from th'mind-stranglin' burble o' 'radio free europe'...crazy patterns dance in th'ether, scatterin' th'liberation seeds that will unshackle th'youth from th'tyrany o' nixonian thought,callin' on jazz'd avant noodlin' mixed in with primordial dislocatin' sloppy vibe,a sensual rush from th'spheres...this was th'sound o' chaos'n riots,a sound o' water cannon'n teargas, th'sound o' revolt against a numbin' mindset, a revolt from style into substance...

...diggin RB is a high flyin' buzz, chillin'n groovin' with cool abandon,a total trip...richard was a left field beatnik caught up in th' hippy scene when he came to prominence in th' late 60's world-wide underground market place when publishin' houses were tryin' to GET HIP with th' youth that was sproutin' literary pretentions...even th'FAB4 knew that richard was a cool daddio'n tried to get him out to th' public via their zapple imprint for spoken word, there was gonna be some kinda series o' beat visionaries all readin' their work'n skittin', but as with other HOTcha ideas emmanatin' from FAB HQ it came to nought in th' 'real world'...brautigan had been writin' his grooved out stories o' weirdsville for many moons, th' bubbly reclinin' stance o' his writin' takes a cat to an arcane/unseen world vista, theres an olde rustic charm mixin' with a commune hippy scene, nothin' defined, just an imaginin', a calm encroachment into a hearsay world, all that is known is transmitted via gentle rythym, movin' along with sweet eloquence, a fluidity in th'mythical stream that once was held in th' eye o' th' denizens o' camelot...list'nin' to richard is slippin' through th'keyhole o' th' ancient gates o' th' sacred city o' righteous dreams...plus any cat who leaves his telephone number on th' front cover has to be some kinda honest head who has belief in humanity...th'wax has a coupla crunches on it that dont take away th' enjoyment once its gotten used to...

...with all th'bleeps'n honks'n screamin' hubhub o' th'modern urban day to day existance its maybe somewhat hard to look back'n see th'reason for th'uproarious bad vibes that sometime accompanied th'live appearances o' suicide...it may have been th'minimal synth repetition pushed into th'red....it might have been th'unearthly echoed squeals from delayed vocals that hiccuped 'round th'room...anyhow th'bridge'n tunnel tourin' squares didn't dig this '5th dimensional elvis' shtick al'n martin were puttin' down at clubs like max's'n cbgb...th'whole o' their sound was smeared with a cloud o' trebled-2-max fuzziness that reached out'n snared th'willin' underground beatnik away from zen mysticism to a new kinda rock'nroll trance that was issuin' up from th'gutters o' alphabet city in th'bankrupt NYC seventies...dig a first rate trip into th'ear gougin' past that will satisfy even th'most jaded head with its emanation o' elevation, takin' th'adventurous rockin' cat to some sorta elysiam field in a burroughs sense, th' claustaphobic world o'heavy paranoia,where th'nova mob're out to GETCHA, th'world turned upside down(or is it,maybe th'future leakin' through is true'n th' last hope is known only by th' HOPHEADS, by th' transient mind...suicide break down th' barriers o' illusion'n present th' real, th' realer than real deal,th'city in th'usual chaos magnified to give society a chance to get grooved into a shamanic relearnin' o' th'true state o' bein',th'labyrinthine possibilties o' livin' right without th' hassle o' squares puttin' up boundaries that mark th' limits o' imagination...al'n martin work on th'premise that any sound is beautiful, that uglyness is a consumer con, th'reason for th'ill favoured in society is a mere bluff laid by th' robber barons'n their boot lickin' lackies, th' rejects from weed heaven, th' squares that dont even dig themselves, th' ones too scared to see th'reflection in every mirror for fear o' wakin' up to their own pitiful state...suicide loiter at th' gates o' gonesville beckonin' th' free spirit to th' last chance to GET RIGHT, to get in th' wind'n ride th'tiger into th' calmin' storm o' impulse...th'computer is reworkin' th' MEMPHIS CAT into th' chrome plated nightmare o' sci-fi reality takin' in flipped out D.I.Y ossilaions o' th' silver apples'n that mind soup poetry o' th' 13th floor elevators, takin' th' rock'n roll trip one further mile to salvation...

...cats who dig th'early free(k)form R&B daze, like up to around th'time shady grove hit th'racks're gonna flip their lid with this double boot'n that ain't no mistake...this was most definitly th'period that counts when it comes to this combo for although it must be said dinos version was a real different proposition, an excellent thing in their own right,but not to be confused with th'ballroom QMS...this here is one hotcha big groove from start to finish (albeit a ruff'n ready listen in a coupla places)...o' top historical import with th'first disk kickin' off with a radio ad for a gig at th'avalon followed up with said show(9/66), well nice...disk one sees th'quicks buildin' up their chops'n th' second is one long journey through th' singular sound that by '68 was patently their own...more top evidence o' a great aggregation who mangled beer joint blooze into chemical alchemy producin' ballroom tribal-psych...does not disapppoint one iota 'n a chippa addition to their canon...

...th'years 1967'n th'psychedelic revolution is hittin' on all fronts with th'red crayola takin' some wigged out guitar manglin' from sun baked texas over to th'west coast,to th'berkeley folk festival where their form o'avant slop is not totally appreciated,th'audience not sure what to make o'this new way o'communicatin'...a mixture o'freejazz noodlin' with some 'heavy air'style deadism is a new experience for th'folky crowd,this free form feedback clutter is somethin else,somethin' modern'n otherworldly,not entrenched in tradition like th'rest o'th'festival artists...tribal'n trancy,a thousand years o'primal beats burst forth into th'sun o'a new day,this is th'sound o'cats on a mission,not unlike fellow travellers th'godz'n early '66 velvet underground'n to some degree AMM,where freedom o'expression knows no boundaries,limited only by imagination,new ideas arrive'n leave in seconds,th'sound o' NOW fleetin' through th'ether on its eternal jounrney o'transformed discovery...one o'those disks that needs to be heard a few times before list'nin' in full can begin,once immersed in this racket there is no goin' back,th'past can only disappear from view...

...sonnys original five trk LP is one hotcha piece o' outta-control late sixties wax that cats who dig th'freeform madness o' th' times is gonna wanna get total hep with real soon...a collision o' ideas 'n sounds from across th' now generation spectrum includes sky's seedy psych whine/sub dylan literal protest poetry'n folkrock harmonica/godz intensity/kim fowley lunacy/'n reworked riffs all presided over by a student o' spector college...th' session cats workin' on this had a lotta fun(like on blondeonblonde)'n list'nin' again is a lotta fun too...comes with real groovy bonus cuts, dig it'n use it well...

...more o' those jams from 69/70 that jimi was gettin' involved with,forever searchin' for th'moment,tryin' to connect with th'elusive IT,when all comes together,universal harmony o' th'infinite groove,reachin' for th'ONE,soarin' away from earthly concerns(pop stardom/managers)floatin' in th'cosmos...its mainly jimi'n buddy miles kickin' th'gong around on various sessions,diggin' th'vibes,gettin' funky'n driftin' wherever th'muse leads...riffin'n groovin' with occasional spark'n flash ignitin',ready to be absorbed into jimi's ideas well waitin' for th'time to be right to reappear in a possible song...

...when george clinton set his peepers on th'MC5 at th'grande ballroom in detroit at th'tail end o' th'60s he knew it was time to update th'soul brother routine'n get with it,get it on as a freak soul brother'n he took it to th'max with some cats as funkadelic,a massive blast o' drugged acid rock searin' through th'psychedelic dungeons for all to hear...righteous mind messin' funk piled high with anger from th'streets,from th'veit-nam jungles,from th'prisons,this was an angry fix, agent orange for th'mind('n body),but most o' all this was(is)life affirmin' hope for all that understood th'old order was corrupt,politics was empty,bereft o' any substance that would enhance th'lives o'ordinary cats...uncle sams autocracy was only interested in th'xeroxed profits it could cheat from citizens blindly followin' th''freedom march' to th'mall,puttin' th'pig on every corner scarein' up th'peoples,floodin' urban areas with bad drugs,killin' th'poor...this is th'third 'delic wax'n possibly th'most fully formed with th'ideas they had at th'time,a perfect meetin' o'gospel/freak formed hambone/spaced out rock'n roll thud/drugged guitar noise/tape samples,all swirlin' in a mind alterin' stew o'karmic brotherhood,wig liftin' feedback batterin' pummel showerin' down mind bombs like th'gunships that roamed high at home'n in th'NAM...a total heavy right-on noise,a true summin' up o' th'times,takin' it to th'streets,drillin' right into th'maggot brain o' super stupid durin' th'ever present wars o'armaggedon...this is remastered'n th'sound is bustin' out,full frontal attack as it should be...

...early 70s detroit'n th'tribe label is set up with th'express purpose o' gettin' a few jams down on tape'n a few joints on th'block,this is flipped cats doin' it for themselves,not workin' for th'MAN...this is jazz from th'bohemian basements in th'weird part o'town,its partly fusion,but not commercial style,just pullin' it from th'air'n moldin' grooves together,weavin' th'tapestry from older fabrics,into th'present'n future,where it will be ready to be rewove into a different style'n sound,th'essence remainin' intact...this compilation was put out late last century'n shows th'true yanquee street jazz scene in th'mid seventies away from th'media capitals'n show biz moolah centers,cats like wendell harrison'n phil ranelin'n doug hammond're allowed to get some seriously spiritual funky spaced out rock fusions jams out into th'open,onto th'street'n round for all th'hep cats to dig...th'ghosts'n vibes from 60s pioneers like albert ayler'n john coltrane mix with th'electric miles on th'small stage in th'urban voodoo theatre where hopes'n dreams flourish without hinderance,lookin' ever onward...

...most combos past their prime settle in for th'pension route,puttin' out inferior product,rehashs o' begone glories'n its basically pointless to all but th'band themselves though in their private moments they know its all just fit for th'garbage pail,nothin' more nothin' less...then theres th'MC5'n its obvious that time has rolled on,th'heyday o'complete madness is over but th'job they set out to do has to some degree been accomplished,cats're thinkin'n doin' it for themselves by 1972(th'MAN'n pig lackys're still in charge but times have been a'changin' across th'planet)...recorded live in a studio in france we get th'5 doin' a greatest hits package,but with a difference,th'mighty jams're still bein' kicked out,th'5're rockin' like they do'n th'sound quality is fantastic(relatively speakin',after all this is th'5)...after years o'total whack soundin' boots its real gonesville to get this cranked up high showin' th'5 were no posuers who got lucky,these cats were committed to th'cause o' revolutionary rock'nroll,takin' th'spirit'n madness o' little richard'n mixin' in some spaceways thinkin' o' sun ra'n rollin' th'whole shebang into a phat dooby'n lightin' up with prime era townshend'n moon whoisms...after this everythin' fell apart for th'last time, they would be back in various guises to rock th'kids wherever they need to rock which is everywhere,th'5're alive in high society forever more,th'flame will never go out whilst one true cat believes in th'rama lama fa fa fa...(two early jams're tacked on th'end,just to show how it was'n completin' th'circle,plus makin' it last longer,nice)...

...more missives taped illicitly from th'far reaches o' ol' charlies mental capacitors,speakin' in trailer trash visions from th'darkside o' gonesville,where it all goes in but dont necessarily come out,this is th'blooze from th'backend o' nowhere'n as nowhere must be somewhere it could be here or it could be there,it could be anywhere,but most probably,'n all th'pointers indicate this certainty,its by now everywhere...charlie is th'worlds most strange pop star,fully on in heavy effect twenty4seven,goin' at high speed in a sittin' position throwin' down th'weird truths from th'depression o'th'human spirit...th'uglyness'n uncertainty that has plagued th'minds o' countless millions down th'ages manifests in charlies back alley stories'n haphazard philosophies that hold water when th'tide is low but're prone to leakiness...victim o'society or th'product o' a C.I.A control plot may well be th'sum total o'charlies worth but theres no denyin' he's a barroom prophet in th'age o' bland celebrity hype,a shaman from th'deepest recess o' thinkin's unsteady beginnin's,wobbly hyperbole from beyond th'hollywood babylon...

...early worm represents th' first recorded output o' neil megson back in 68, up in th'attic o' his parents house with a few o' his layabout friends gettin' busy with some tribal gubbin's, layin' down some meanderin' grooves, some primal thoughts that were outside th' psychedelic guidelines o' th' time'n well outside th' heavy blooze rockin' that was makin' headway through that riotous year...avant garde noodlin' by cats who aint in th' avant discipline, just gettin' on with makin' a noise that somehow follows linear standards without bein' pofaced'n slaveish, a lotta fun was had makin' these sounds, this is obvious from th' start...cacophonous'n cluttered at times yet with th' instruments each bein' subservient to th' others, followin' untutored patterns that come naturally in this small community style format...sometimes a strange ambience comes into play, whilst gleeful campfire singalongs pep up th'preceedin's givin' a close family feel, a warmth thats genuine...givin' a coupla listens brings forth some pertinent socio-geographical observations, namely if these college/cafe hooligans had been hangin' in th' ladbroke grove/nottin' hill arts movement they'd been gettin' some serious action supportin' soft machine at some fund raisin' benefit for I.T magazine'n in turn gettin' groovy write ups in said paper, no doubt penned by deviant mick farren who'd invite them to bring up th'slack at one o' their shambolic outtin's in th' hippy underworld, middle earth woulda got an injection o' wobby avant to liven up evenin's o' blissed light show daliance...durin' th' day a trip down to indica books would most likely bear some HEP fruit in th' style o' gettin' wiggy with paul macca'n suckin' in a heavy fluxus buzz from yoko,all o' which would have resulted in a session at abbey road'n a long play disc on apple(this last part maybe strechin' reality but th' possibilties exist, based on th'events dreamed in awakeness)...cats who dig th' world accordin' to angus macclise, th'cat who left th' velvets cos they were gettin' too commercial by gettin' low pay gigs will dig this free form pile up o' goodness, a sound o' discordance that fitted in easily to th'landscape o'68 when everythin' was up for grabs one way or 'nother...