...here we are in 2006 with charles givin' out some insightful abstractions from th'olde world inky ticker-type tape that flows through his ever alive ever movin' mind banks, th'flickerin' inner screens o' mansons imagination're always on, they never sleeps, th'batteries're on fully charged 24 hours a day...pollution is uppermost on charlies list o' wrong doin's th' boss-man's gonna have to pay for, th' squares have just got to stop runnin' around like headless chickens destroyin' everythin' that gets in th' way o' their TEEVEE regulated existence'n listen to th'sound o' th' truth, th'truth from on high, th'truth that aint gonna go away...mansons very passionate about th'state o' things, th'ruination o' nature for profit'n gain, he's not happy about th' corporate filth that're screwin' up th' planet for pure unadulterated greed...indeed chas is heavily buggin' about th'way its all goin' downhill at an alarmin'ly rapid rate that aint gonna slow up until th' brakes're slammed fully into action...it seems a cats gotta get back to an earlier time or lest tomorrow is eternally lost, gone forever in a strangulated haze o' gasoline fumes'n cleanin' products...

...teeterin' on th' brink o' uncertainty, sleepers lurch into th'crash'n burn punk fury o'77 with retarded bowieisms from th' psychiatric ward at some long forgotten outpost o' th'terminal zone...slowly smoulderin' fuses o' bad drug powders, over doses o' seconals'n cheap beer,keep this in th'hypnotic dreamscapes from a yet to come cemetery o' zombies destined to wander aimless in th'ethereal other world...its th'thin white dukes punk'd-out shadow at th'back alley lounge, fulla junkie haze'n rejected alcoholic shamblers spinnin' stories o' high improvable impossibilities'n down right untruths...a definitely unsteady pulse keeps pluggin' away with a constant willin' to get to a designated end, to keep on th'right path, never stray to far from th' pure essence o' cool deranged rockin', a kinda less bad tempered flipper,less aggravation than flipper gave out...this cd bein' a compilation o' their oeuvre in chronological order theres a discernible progression o' ideas,(maybe in some minds not for th' better but not as bad as some combos pretense o' movin' forward, theres still a drugged looseness spewin' forth)even reachin' into an ash ra temple cyclic repetitive groove with some joy division weariness headin' to th' werewolf castle o' pre-gothyness(san francisco post hippypunk goth, not northern england grey satanic mills style angst)...whilst pushin' th'then boundaries o' accepted underground stylin's, sleepers keep th' sludge blooze o' earlier combos such as blue cheer'n mount rushmore alive albeit in a wildly differin' form...

...scratch-o-phobes may wish to up th'medicine dose for this ancient vinyl cos there is a fair few pops givin' it th'authentic feel, an extra tiple or two should see th'pony over th'hill'n into th'valley though cos once a cats got used to th'older list'nin' experience its all hands on deck for a trip to th'west coast early seventies landscape with jack traylors steelwind, a late hippy aggregation whose sole LP was full o' ecological/political commentary all rolled up in sweet jefferson starplane wrappers...it kinda takes a few spins to wring th'juice outta this slab cos th'whole groove is mellow, but not soporific, just flowin' down stream from th' mountains to th'(polluted)sea where oil slicks'n radiated gunk slip by as business gets rid o' th'evidence...not th'greatest platter to emerge but a welcome earfull none th'less, a worthy effort that deserves its place in th'west coast pantheon...

...charlie bein' th' radical free thinker that he is finds that its necessary for th' guardians o' morality to keep him under lock'n key lest th' truths he beholds run amok over th' land'n th' business world finds itself strung up with no means o' exploitin' cash outta th' poor'n needy...bein' uncle sams #1 political prisoner is a heavy responsibility'n charlie puts in a 24/7 work detail, answerin' mail'n takin'/makin' phone calls'n selectin' cats off th' visitin' list he might find interestin'(charlie has th' most correspondence in th' entire yanquee lock up system/most visitin' requests etc, man, its a hard slog but if'n any cats got th' stamina its charlie, livin' free'n easy in his mind, rollin' down hills on horseback'n ridin' dune buggys across th' deserts, speedin' along th' hi-way o' creation, keepin' an eye on th' horsemen o' th' apocalypse)...without th'aid o' special effects'n modern technology gizmos chas is able to be anywhere on th'planet at any given moment, time'n space hold no boundaries for manson, th'physical plane is just an illusion, a trick o' th'light that holds th'great unwashed mesmerized'n hence standin' still but always movin' busy goin' nowhere,yet charlie whilst apparently caged is everywhere,bein' all things to all men, a super star to lonely forgotten teenagers, a demon who haunts th'capitalist dream from th'hollywood hills to th' white house, a sure-fire ratein's grabber for th' TEE VEE moguls, a self perpetuatin' industry that just keeps on rollin', spreadin' out further'n further...this wax taped in th'90s is a few missives from th' philosophical vaults that're stashed securely in th' recesses o' mansons mind, deep from within th' soul charlie free-styles some poetry, goes off on a coupla rants'n tangents out into who knows where, spinnin' around then facin' forward ready to start again chas meanders in'n out, weavin'n bobbin' truths'n realities into th'NOW...reflectin' back at th'system with 'no sense makes sense' charlie walks it like he talks it down th'hallways o' always, comin' from th' light into th'light chas has somehow become th' light itself, a charlatan gangster to sooth sayer,hillbilly rebel car thief to defender o' th' faith,th'father kicks it around for all to hear, signalin' knowledge with irregular parables from th'devils hole, th'very earth speaks from charlie, he channels th'planets fear down th' electric phone wire'n into th'ether...

...1980s prison recordin' from charles is a right-on slab o' heavy disturbed back alley blues, th'like o' which dont get seen/heard too often in this air conditioned fluffy bunny age...it would be appropriate to call this work desperate man blooze, no other terminology comes near but it'd be wrong to think that ol' chas is in any way desperate, th'world around is desperate, desperate to know where its goin', desperate in some ways to know where its been with all th' hurly burly back stabbin' th' squares engender for each other...charlies got it all worked out from beginnin' to th'eventual conclusion, its all goin' th' way charlie goes, from here to there'n onward toward whever it might be...this wax sees charlie connectin' th' preceedin' 50 years up into one heavy blast o' backwoods loner stoner trance folk, introspective meanderin's form th' singular mind o' th' last prophet o' th' psychedelic age...on th'surface manson may seem a little off th'beam but th' more a cat looks into this 'nightmare' world th' visions're often near to th' centre o' th' universal thought patterns, th'essence flowin' somehow uphill to higher workin's...in another parallel trajectory he'd have been president/chairman o' th'board with all his con-man-shoot-from-th'hip-bandido-thinkin' but as it is th'revolution took a side track up bread scramble alley...th'ambience o' th'cell makes for some intense pressure givin' th'air a cloudy feel with all th'outside noise breakin' through, th'interminable din o' th' timeless time stretched day but charlie dont get bugged by th' outside cos they're only there if he wants them to be otherwise its charlies dream with all others just passin' by, not even sure they exist if charlie dont want them to...this was a one sided affair with th' B side bein' an etchin' o' one mansons drawins,also in th'package,a photo copy each o' squeaky/sandy with words from th'father plus a badge, rock'n roll from th'bad side o' town, from th'outlaw place, th'wayward territory beyond order...

...most cats when they hear th'word glastonbury just pretend they didn't catch it cos these days th'old glasto scene is one big crowded overpriced holiday camp for th'credit card squares out lookin' for some 'spiritual' knees up'n nothin' more, a constituent shuck'n jive thats serves no purpose beyond th'cash grab...back in th'day this was not th' case, th'first coupla gatherin's were a cool groove with just th'right amount o' stray hippys to make it all a peaceful sunny vibe with no bread head squabbles, just a few spliffs'n a tab o' orange to blast th' day in mellow tones...this triple wax offerin' was put out in 72 by radio geronimo(revelations records) to help recoup a bit o' scratch for later happ'nin's, with contributions from th'dead/brinsley schwartz/pete townshend/marc bloan/bowie/skin alley/hawkwind/ all offerin'sound NOT recorded at th'fest, but else where...mighty baby/gong/fairies/edgar broughton DO offer tracks recorded at th'fest though th'whole joint hangs with nice subtle glue to keep a cat buzzin' for a coupla hours...th'original packagin' was a trip to behold with th'cover openin' out to be extra sized,big enough to hold a cats personal festy without leavin' th'room, a giant poster plus, all housed in a nice poly bag with underground comic style graphix...an excellent journey to th'past, when th'world was young'n all was pointin' up for right thinkin' cats with their head in th'smoke o' ancient wisdom...

...th'ambience o' th'room,th'ambience o' th'moment when all was pulled back from th' brink, th' near losin' o' th'moment, pig oppression versus free expression, when T.O.P.Y had th' forces o' law'n order givin' out with th'heavy handed forces o' unappointed power, leavin' th'tapestry o' life with more frayin' edges...recorded 23rd april 1988 in london(uk), back when maybe rock'n roll/cults/hippys were still dangerous to th' well bein' o' th' state, still dangerous to business cos th'pig did their utmost to stop this gatherin to take place (as if a few hippy cats talkin' wide eyed would ruin th'stock market but economics is a feather light concept that sometimes will only stand up when sellin' pornography'n unfeasibly addictive drugs to th'cats that can only be
least capable o' takin' th'deviant concept to full fruition)...gather into th'surroundin's that give a coverin'to th'free cats who live by th'outlaw rule that demands upmost adherence to th'real truth that can only th'original thinker can adhere to, a garden o' light that must by definition be invisble to th' unwashed ones,th'ninety nine plus percent that don't deserve anythin' that dont happen when it aint comin' down from th'supreme clown, th'all seein' sage from th'ancient ones, th'guardians o'inner spirit...when th' unspoken ones surround th'central mind o' good karma there is one way to escape for as long as it takes'n thats to get a buzz down th'warehouse o' dreams,th'dream that comes from th'willin' mind to hop th'train that goes by th' spur route, th' route to deserts that come from an excess o' feedin' on th'teat o' capitalistic degradation...as th'word from on high disciplines th'hallways o' always will prevail until th'submission to th'void is o' infinite importance free th' mind NOW otherwise its hormone growth from th'cattle o' slaughter troughs in places near to where its too close...THINK BEFORE YA SINK...

...released last century in th' mid nineties, this is a fairly good look at some o' th'psyched out noise mongers who were threatenin' japanese calm'n honor, throwin' up a maelstrom o' ugly racket full o' bad drug attitude'n scrapin' skronk...combos like th' space streaklings/musica transonica/boredoms/ruins/ground zero/masahi batoh/high rise all come together to blast th'sedatory cobwebs from all cats that maybe were loosin' faith with th'rock'n roll vibe, spillin' nasty acid damaged splatter across th' grooves'n into waitin'ears...rippin' up th'acid rock text book'n replacin' th' pages with a new kinda twisted dementia, slippin'n slidin' down dark unknown corridors where th'keepers o' secrets lie in wait to take unsuspectin' souls into th' realms o' velvet black light...speakin' in tongues, these far east monsters command attention from lesser mortals who can only stand in awe'n offer up their very bein' to th' new gods from th' LSD temple...heavy piles o' putrid trash that over two hours o' mind bendin' sickness will cure all ills if taken in th' right doseage at th' witchin' hour o' 13 o'clock(gmt)...

...double disk o' trippy doodles, guaranteed to flip all cats into th' next dimension with th' total wigginess thats emanatin' in fine style, wobbly'n meltin' into th' ether...grab ahold o' a magic carpet ride through th' gateways o' time to behold mysterious sights'n wonderments...groove down th' mystic highways'n byways, long forgotten by most o' modern humanity to th'place where it all begins, th'source from which ancient vibes radiate their heavy spillage...angus'n friends(inc.tony conrad/john cale) give forth with th'clang'n bang that allow imagination to roam th'deserts, replentished oasis from which th'eternal life springs gush with th'concentratin' power...beatnik poetry that offers new insights into th'universe, differin' ways o' lookin'n thinkin', a thousand years o' language waitin' to reveal their truths, unlockin' th' mysteries from dusty chambers, sweepin' th'fragments into a new whole...unlock th'stars from th'deep space o' timeless nothin',slippin' through th'keyhole to th'wakin'dawn that awaits th'seeker, th'liquid flames offer recompence for th' icy souls that dwell in th'houses o' penniless conformity, catch th'train for th'ticketless ride to th'outer limits, beyond th' imposed boundaries o' a corrupt'n bankrupt society...transcripts from th'gone world, shock waves from flip city edge their way forward ensnarein' th'adventurous ears with floatations in th'calmin' seas, swimmin' in hallucinogenic moonlight...as with all th'maclise disks that have oozed forth into th'atmosphere its a hep gaggle o' beauteous marvels thats needs to be fed into a cats organic wirin' as soon as th'times decree...

...very nice box set o' live velvetness recorded november/december 69 in san francisco at th'avalon ballroom/matrix(plus a goodly workout on 'sister ray' from st.louis )by robert quine, later to be a voidoid for richard hell,on his newly aquired portable tape machine...its th'usual meanderin' choogle o' low slung back alley damage th'velvets were puttin' down at th'end their tenure in th'rock business, lou is polite'n friendly with th'frisco floweroids, tellin' them what songs're about'n such like,givin' out with th'NYC amphetamine sleaze (disk 2 has a near 40 minute jam on sister ray)'n wasted decadence o' edie sedgewick...list'nin' to late era velvets gives an air o' motionless spirituality, outside time with all constaints'n period shackles removed leavin' an eternal oneness with NOW, th'on goin' feelin' thats its happ'nin for th' first time even though physically they were windin' down from high intensity avant jammin' from earlier times...th'sound quality is on th'scuzzy side which as long time velvet heads know, thats really th'only way to dig them, they're hidden behind th' gauze that society puts up to keep th' truth from bein' known, th' velvets all powerful presence seeps through th' muffle barrier imposed by technology to expose th' reality o' urban livin'...

...this buncha reefered out berkeley politico beatnix managed one wax in their short existence from mid71/72 'n they got kinda lucky in hookin' up with marty who was hangin' loose after bailin' from th'plane to get away from th' ego problems some were havin'...they got signed with a major on th'strength o' martys rep cos said rec.co. wanted th'singer for themselves, but all this shenanigans dont detract from this bein' a fair 'n goodly slice o' early seven oh funky hippie bluesrock with some nice grooves 'n a chippa vibe emanatin' about its presence...some late anti-establishment lyrics add to th' vibe...real nice effort...

...after seducin' th' grootna biscuit marty got back th'urge to do some singin' so he got this new combo together with a coupla cats from th'groots'n a coupla others who were hangin' busy doin' nothin' 'n what happened was a total good blast o' funky hippy R&B...its no real hype to say this is martys finest hour, way better than anythin' done after 'n some debate might be in order (but not right now) as to whether it beats his plane gear cos here we got a solid hep groove goin' 'n no distractions, just way cool tunes with excellent vocal 'n some loose playin' from all concerned...good sound on both these disks add a little more...

...more tranced out weird beard freakiness from th' maclise cupboard o' inter transportation devices, again more dronin' organ blasts'n electronic noodle ooodles to put bubbles in th'karmic soup bowl...gettin' busy with th' cyclic doomy organ rotations angus propels a cat into th'enlightenin' beams that lurk at th'end o' ancient tunnels,enablin' contact with superior forces, reachin' out to th' higher bein's...sometimes electronic doodles oodle into th' noodle ticklin' th'synape with karmic feathers, strokin' delicate but stutterin' fingers across th'blankets that cover consciousness, pullin' back th'security o' known worlds...drummin' to th'infinite ones, th'all seein' bein' who command th'HEP world, th'kings o' th'back alley beatnix,th'floaters on th'never endin' voyage o' th'infinte nano second that determines th'NOWness o'NOW...cats sittin' in th'crossed legged position, cozyin'up to th'egoless oblivion will dig th'vibrations o' forward motion whilst in th'stationery predisposition, givin' th'concentric th'advantageous start to willin' correspondence with th' elders from eternal dreams...

...boyds first LP recorded sometime durin'75 'n released in some small quantity like 85 disks in plain black sleeve that was designed to be played at 16/33/45/78(cats with th'adventurous/mischievous ear could always mess with th' speeds durin' list'nin' process therefore allowin' for even more annoyance/fun)...made up o' treated loops 'n fragments o' parts o' old records this is avant garde more than anythin' 'n doesn't approach th' constraints o' rockmusic (specially th'mid seventies variety)...if it hadn't been for his association with throbbing gristle 'n re/search magazine its fairly safe to say that he would not have achieved fame 'n infamy on a worldwide underground level for his noise/philosophy...as bein' th'disk that kicked off a thirty('n countin')year career its possibly th'purest distillation o' his art which seems to be that o' freein' th'mind'n will 'n th' drones 'n trance that appear here certainly can be mindalterin' in 'n organic psychedelic way...

...th'beast is indeed back'n rockin' in that patented blue cheer way that all layabouts o' a certain inclination know'n love'n have dug for many a year...unlike a lotta combos that keep on chuggin' along/reform periodically these cheer cats know that th'job o'gettin' 'outta focus' a serious undertakin'n should only be attempted by solid stoners on a mission...obviously after all this time, over 40years th' playin' has gotten more precise'n refined but th'urgent'n insistent cheer groove that was present on th'first 3 LPs is still in place(unlike those 80's wax that didn't really meet th' required standard demanded from anythin' remotely connected to th' cheerian name)...bad trip guitar screech'n seismic thuds creep'n crawl over an hours worth o'da-blooz, gospel'n stoner swill which enhances a heavy bong hit to gonesville every time its spun...

...by th' time this LP was taped th'massed freak rock bongo spliff-outs were becomin' a thing from th' past...a much more pastoral folk groove is gettin' down here with some acoustic strummin' on th' first trk soundin' like floyds 'set th' controls...' 'n some nods to west coast acid chooglin' dead style're in evidence...layabouts familiar with siloahs brand o' acoustic trancey k-rock will vaguely know what to expect though th' fake ethnicisms aren't present with th'duul...actually recorded as a genuine commercial release as th' kraut vibe spread across th' head planet, though naturally it sold zilch 'n so rec.co. interest shrunk from hesitant to infinitely non existant...from this moment on any music th' combo got involved in only revolved round their promotion o' th' commune 'n not to line business suit pockets...

...down down deeper'n down, further into th' jams that make up most o' their output... this is th' third waxin' 'n it was a double-disk-blowout...uppin' th' communal quotient a few notches to counteract th' forces o' oppression, th'spliffin'n riffin' just keeps agoin' 'n when it does seem to slow down it picks up again cos these cats were on a mission to save all right thinkin' hepsters from fallin' prey to capitalist coca-cola indoctrination that was rife in th'homeland...as an aside there are a coupla times when a pop tune they've purloined from th'ether creeps through but th' jams soon win out...one o' th' great platters o'splatta...good for th' head, heart 'n soul...