Sex and the rock and roll revolution - IN SEARCH OF SPACE #92

This is rapidly turning into a diarise which I don’t want to do to y’all because contrary to me very own predictions I’mma startin’ to quite like some of you, and I’d only be diarising and dropping poetry on y’ if I’d conceived some sorta spite upon yooz; but anyhoo; I got called out, that’s right kiddies someone out there probably reading this right now has the nerve to call out the author on the subject of the rock and roll revolution, as you might have noticed it’s often my musing to conclude that this-or-that sonic stirrer of the moment is an essential piece in the sonic arsenal of the rock and roll revolution and it isn’t just a line, it’s true true Barney McGrue because rest assured that the revolution is coming brothers and sisters and you can’t even imagine it, nor will you be able to truly explain it in retrospect when yer kiddies ask you about the world before. To mis-quote a great man, this shiver is just the passing of greed because dictators die, fortunes are gambled and systems fail but we, the people, shall live on indefinitely. The rock and roll revolution will be a peaceful revolution, though there will be blood, the rock and roll revolution will remove (utterly) the barriers between men and women, between black and white people, between young and old. This I shall do, through cleansing of all the facets of old and evil, all the things for corrupting the soul and poisoning the will. The rock and roll revolution will be this pure, I know, because it will be primarily a sexual revolution. We’ll come simultaneously to realise the vital qualities that sexual union offers to the human soul, and the meaninglessness of the sexual union simultaneously. This will be spearheaded natch by Jex Thoth, the sultry rock temptress will lead us all to a better land, but she hasn’t enough records to fully get to the point so we’re going to have to build our castle upon Blood Ceremony records.

Because that’s how we’ll separate ourselves from the machinery of greed, intolerance and death. We’ll decamp to all the holy sites, all the old pagan places, however we find them, and play Blood Ceremony records and fuck in the temples. Sit around smoking herbal cigarettes with the filter tips snapped off, musing over how we can make the world a better place but recording it all and fucking again and then discussing palindromes, hyphenated palindromes and the godfather of the whole thing, Pihkal and his psilocybin temple, didja know he was buried with twenty subjects and a treasure trove of psychedelics. We will become the molecular magicians, on the back of the hazy Sunday afternoon sorta psyche dropped by Blood Ceremony; it all plays like Jex Thoth dropped a coupla octaves and playing end of party songs… y’know, when everything in yer bloodstream has slipped into a nice equilibrium and yer surfing the sine wave and chilling, about two in the morning usually, and yer looking for some kinda ZZ Top I Need You Tonight type laid-back-laid-down groove to totally lay you out, and it does. Certainly has its wild moments too, but the central tone is of rolling down lazy street with no botherances, which is how the world should be come the glorious revolution. Oh and they open it with a prayer to the great god Pan, which while not smoking my spiritual pipe, definitely appeals.

Pihkal wasn’t a real shaman king of the holy lands, I probably hipped ya to that off some dud info from a Sleep record or something, I dunno anymore. There’s just something so Jex Thothianally retro about the entire Blood Ceremony trip, when they don’t have organ and flute solos I mean. It brings to mind Joplin doing her bizznezz over that John McLaughlin record before he got all Mahavishnu’d out and dropped that stellar Devotion LP, which is a lil undiscovered gem and is just begging to be taken up and held as an example of the power of rock and roll. Nevertheless these cats hit the same sonic highs, pasting something all over with rampant post-Sabbathisms but dialling the whole thing back from Sabbath’s intense introspective heavy metal fury into a chilling and chilled delusion of pleasant proportions. Perfect for fucking to, and the rock and roll revolution will require plenty of our filthy dirty flesh. I see a lot of people complaining about sexualisation these days. Sex is everywhere they say, it’s too much, well quite, someone might remind me that I’m a human with wants and desires and a desire to slake the wants and desires of someone else… can’t have that. But sex is dangerous, being told that plastic idols are the epitomy of sexuality, actors and people who have no relation to us are who we should aspire to sexually. Well fuck that noise, I’mma be proud of my own filthy dirty flesh and you should too, and find someone else who likes themselves and you too and go hop on the bad foot and do the good thing, because the revolution will need new sexual idols. We’ll ditch Rhianna and in her place we’ll put the new idols, and the new idols shall be ourselves.

Written under duvet by Steven.

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