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...this is it, diiig it as his lordship gets down with tales about the nazz, the gan, nero, jonah and the gasser plus others who all get to blow free on this lesson in world politics/history and religion...all related in the fine hep lingo of the #1 wordologist of freeform jazzboness...this will flip all gassed daddies as they knock a lobe for the trip to vipersville, anywhere on the sweet swinging sphere...step into the glow of double heparama and get solid gone...
...the modern world might well have began here, well anyway it certainly didn't end here as some squares and guardians of morality thought it would...any cat giving out with the truth whether it be real or poetic interpretation was at once going run into problems with the cubes (and to a large extent it's still going happen though the squares are largely on the backfoot nowadays due to communication routes being more difficult to control) but they quickly move on to something else when they run out of 'righteous indignation'...dig the images as they come and go in a whirlpool of beat-down hepness...watch the decades peel away to reveal a different time and place that now seems like a dream from the hydrogen jukebox...
...extremely cool release of ginsberg song/recitation jams he recorded at various sessions through the '70s with such beat luminaries as peter orlovski/david amram/anne waldman/bob dylan plus one or two others...lyrics on a personal nature abound (cats with a less free and easy outlook may wish question the validity of listening to such thoughts) all set to various backing grooves including new orleans jazzboism, folk, blues, country, all forms of yanquee sounds abound...the truth is in these joints, all brimming with humour and rumour from the streets and parks, wherever the hep cats congregate, from the back alleys and subterranean morphine pads come paranoias that only the holy will ever know...dig as allen shoots from the hip visions and hopes, fears and desperation into the universe from deep in the cosmic beat mind, oiled with sacrificial opiumated hash and wine...
...'is america insane' asks the insert that came with this disk, released on the ESP-Disk label back in 1966, an LP of tuli kupferberg reading adverts from various newspapers/comics/magazines...its pop art, taking the everyday normal object and showing it in unfamiliar circumstances so it takes on different meanings...these ads when glanced at in their ordinary setting may not attract too much attention but when pulled out and presented here they show another side, they open new vistas showing the strangeness that surrounds everywhere...emminently playable when an evening of fugnacious madness is called for...
...a super nice drawing together of the 4 reprise albums plus a disk of unreleased gubbings in the shape of the demos they did for atlantic records and the first lp(tenderness...) in mono...these latter day fugnations are often overlooked in favour of the ESP-Disk work and thats a fair state of affairs as the first two (ESP)LPs are some exquisite offerings of underground beatnik folk slop of the highest order, but the reprise goodies are great basement style rock poetry that stands tall in the annals of pop hedonism...like the modal rounders whom they worked with sometimes their sound is a complete extension of their enviroment and social thinking, heavily dosed with reefer and amphetamine plus copius opiates...scads of squelchy beat lyricism set against some twanging garage riffing and R&B/jazzbo bopping, these cats hung out in the dingy recesses of mind altered karmic states...dig the grooves as they bypass the psychedelic teenage generation and stay in the back alleys of urban slums on the watch for vice agents and finx ready to stop their message getting to the consumer populace...dig the pentagon being levitated and exorcised of the evil that dwells within, dance in johnsons land and wallow in the squoosh and smoke a little dope...hang out with the slum goddess and the belle from avenue A and know there's more grope needed...from the peace eye bookshop to the world, not bad for some old beats from the rain soaked sidewalks of the decayin land of no hope...
...all layabouts with some lazy time will want to grab a chunk of this 50s wiggyness with the beat generation, from the writers to the hangers on riding the latest gravy train...gonesville grooves straight from the fridge ready to blow a cats lid with far out swinging lobe loobing...dig the beat beat be-at of crazed cats on a mission to break on through, to escape the square life which uncle sam so kindly had on offer for the sleep deprived masses of the chrome nightmare of suburban conformity...kick the gong around greenwich village and bong the bongos in north beach with flipsters getting jazzed with smiling buddhas on pot and cheap red wine...avoid cops and finx as hep cats chow down on bowls of raspberry jello in neon eateries under the frightened gaze of workaday squares from cubesville...skip out on the rent down rickerty fire escapes into back alleys full of yesterdays headlines and tomorrows dreams...cool out with a fresh package of green from mexico behind closed doors in the fifth floor walkup on avenue C after buzzing the fuzz crosstown on macdougal street...ride the honking sax just in from kansas and discover nirvana with be-bop dads and peachy palaminos...groove uptown to a harlem crash pad on 124th street and hang with professor bop as he paints pictures from the gone world and be here to go...
...this is it, diiig it as his lordship gets down with tales about the nazz, the gan, nero, jonah and the gasser plus others who all get to blow free on this lesson in world politics/history and religion...all related in the fine hep lingo of the #1 wordologist of freeform jazzboness...this will flip all gassed daddies as they knock a lobe for the trip to vipersville, anywhere on the sweet swinging sphere...step into the glow of double heparama and get solid gone...
...the modern world might well have began here, well anyway it certainly didn't end here as some squares and guardians of morality thought it would...any cat giving out with the truth whether it be real or poetic interpretation was at once going run into problems with the cubes (and to a large extent it's still going happen though the squares are largely on the backfoot nowadays due to communication routes being more difficult to control) but they quickly move on to something else when they run out of 'righteous indignation'...dig the images as they come and go in a whirlpool of beat-down hepness...watch the decades peel away to reveal a different time and place that now seems like a dream from the hydrogen jukebox...
...extremely cool release of ginsberg song/recitation jams he recorded at various sessions through the '70s with such beat luminaries as peter orlovski/david amram/anne waldman/bob dylan plus one or two others...lyrics on a personal nature abound (cats with a less free and easy outlook may wish question the validity of listening to such thoughts) all set to various backing grooves including new orleans jazzboism, folk, blues, country, all forms of yanquee sounds abound...the truth is in these joints, all brimming with humour and rumour from the streets and parks, wherever the hep cats congregate, from the back alleys and subterranean morphine pads come paranoias that only the holy will ever know...dig as allen shoots from the hip visions and hopes, fears and desperation into the universe from deep in the cosmic beat mind, oiled with sacrificial opiumated hash and wine...
...'is america insane' asks the insert that came with this disk, released on the ESP-Disk label back in 1966, an LP of tuli kupferberg reading adverts from various newspapers/comics/magazines...its pop art, taking the everyday normal object and showing it in unfamiliar circumstances so it takes on different meanings...these ads when glanced at in their ordinary setting may not attract too much attention but when pulled out and presented here they show another side, they open new vistas showing the strangeness that surrounds everywhere...emminently playable when an evening of fugnacious madness is called for...
...a super nice drawing together of the 4 reprise albums plus a disk of unreleased gubbings in the shape of the demos they did for atlantic records and the first lp(tenderness...) in mono...these latter day fugnations are often overlooked in favour of the ESP-Disk work and thats a fair state of affairs as the first two (ESP)LPs are some exquisite offerings of underground beatnik folk slop of the highest order, but the reprise goodies are great basement style rock poetry that stands tall in the annals of pop hedonism...like the modal rounders whom they worked with sometimes their sound is a complete extension of their enviroment and social thinking, heavily dosed with reefer and amphetamine plus copius opiates...scads of squelchy beat lyricism set against some twanging garage riffing and R&B/jazzbo bopping, these cats hung out in the dingy recesses of mind altered karmic states...dig the grooves as they bypass the psychedelic teenage generation and stay in the back alleys of urban slums on the watch for vice agents and finx ready to stop their message getting to the consumer populace...dig the pentagon being levitated and exorcised of the evil that dwells within, dance in johnsons land and wallow in the squoosh and smoke a little dope...hang out with the slum goddess and the belle from avenue A and know there's more grope needed...from the peace eye bookshop to the world, not bad for some old beats from the rain soaked sidewalks of the decayin land of no hope...
...all layabouts with some lazy time will want to grab a chunk of this 50s wiggyness with the beat generation, from the writers to the hangers on riding the latest gravy train...gonesville grooves straight from the fridge ready to blow a cats lid with far out swinging lobe loobing...dig the beat beat be-at of crazed cats on a mission to break on through, to escape the square life which uncle sam so kindly had on offer for the sleep deprived masses of the chrome nightmare of suburban conformity...kick the gong around greenwich village and bong the bongos in north beach with flipsters getting jazzed with smiling buddhas on pot and cheap red wine...avoid cops and finx as hep cats chow down on bowls of raspberry jello in neon eateries under the frightened gaze of workaday squares from cubesville...skip out on the rent down rickerty fire escapes into back alleys full of yesterdays headlines and tomorrows dreams...cool out with a fresh package of green from mexico behind closed doors in the fifth floor walkup on avenue C after buzzing the fuzz crosstown on macdougal street...ride the honking sax just in from kansas and discover nirvana with be-bop dads and peachy palaminos...groove uptown to a harlem crash pad on 124th street and hang with professor bop as he paints pictures from the gone world and be here to go... 
Please save me from my ignorance! Even how much I try to be inventive I cannot find any links to these highly interesting recordings.
ReplyDeleteGive me please the magic initiation or indeed if I am overlooking the obvious, some explanations as to how to get the finger in the marmelade jar!
Humbly your
bolingo69
sir, run the cursor over the various text (slowly) and the marmalade will indeed be for the taking...enjoy what you find...
ReplyDeleteI thank you much for your kindness in showing me the ropes around here!
ReplyDeleteWith my gratitude and gradually stickíer and stickier fingers!
amicably yours
bolingo69
you are most assuredly welcome...
ReplyDelete