sufi

lala

from the archive: Bob Dylan on tour, by Angela Carter, 1966​

Performing, he’s nothing but a shadow to look at, thin and black-clad and linear, a Beardsley hobgoblin. The little pointy face, so white it is almost blue in the spotlight, is shadowed by a baroque mound of curls. His gestures are harsh, angular and sketchy – insolent, asexual, frequently reminiscent of those of the Scarlet Hex Witch of the comic books. He seems at times to be sending up the overtly sexual writhings of the English pop stars of the new wave (ie Jagger).

Bang, bang, drums, organ, amplified guitar. He does a black and white devil dance clutching a black and white amplified guitar and you can hardly hear a word he’s singing. Maybe this is part of the plot. But it’s all right, ma, he’s only howling. Thus Bob Dylan, erstwhile Wonder Kid of Protest, demonstrated to packed and baffled theatres up and down the British Isles that he is approaching an artistic maturity of a most unexpected kind. Once, he was embraced by innocent liberals as a folk singer whose songs (The Times They Are a-Changing, Masters of War, The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll) pointed committed youth’s way to an understanding of the 20th-century predicament. And this predicament might be solved just by singing them. It was a comfort. People like comforts. But maybe comfort doesn’t finally help all that much.

Dylan is no longer comfortable. The fat-cheeked, Huck Finn-capped youth of the early records who dealt in idealism and excruciating do-it-yourself romantic imagery (white doves, mountains, seas, rainbows – and, for God’s sake, clowns) has grown up into the first ever all-electronic, all existential rock’n’roll singer. He’s singing for Kafka, Kierkegaard, Dostoevsky and all the boys down home on Desolation Row.

Bob Dylan on his 1966 tour of Britain. DA Pennebaker is in the background filming the documentary Don’t Look Back.

Bob Dylan on his 1966 tour of Britain. DA Pennebaker is in the background filming the documentary Don’t Look Back. Photograph: Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images
His singing is exceedingly stylised. He never hits a note true. He chews vowels like ju-jubes. He cries like a wolf (or like Howlin’ Wolf). But what matters most is the songs. Which now have a tough urgency, a strained sense of critical involvement with 20th-century America and a kind of moral satire that is akin to Dean Swift and William Burroughs. Certainly, he’s still got a long way to go on a peculiarly harsh and unrewarding path; but his beginnings are spectacular. The best of the songs on his latest all-electric LP, Highway 61 Revisited, songs such as Like a Rolling Stone and Ballad of a Thin Man, have a mature savagery and a scary kind of wit that is new and extraordinary in music of mass appeal.

He has become a prophet of chaos and those who once accepted him as a blue-denim Messiah of a Brotherhood future once the times had changed may sense a personal betrayal. If not, then not. He attempted to pacify the old fans by doing the first half of his concerts in this country with acoustic guitar and mouth organ. As a matter of fact, Desolation Row sounds pretty silly without a beat backing and he seemed curiously apathetic and a bit lonely, all by himself on stage.

At Cardiff, the audience greeted the opening lines of Mr Tambourine Man with relieved recognition and a round of applause; he did not even give a thin smile in return but threw the song away as if he wished he could throw his harmonica after it. No introductions, no nothing. He scrambled through the troubadour of song bit.

He began to jerk into life when the group came on in the second half and the noise bit began. This Dylan is clanging and vulgar, neon and plastic and, at the same time, blackly, bleakly romantic. And exhilarating, akin to reading The Dunciad or a strip cartoon version of Wuthering Heights while riding a roller coaster.

Dylan is a phenomenon. He never used to be. The smug outrage of the “I hate Time magazine” attitudes of his early songs was easy and shallow, but there are no easy answers, no easy imagery. He’s on his own (like a rolling stone or like a Rolling Stone) and what happens now should be best of all. — London Magazine, 1966
 

luka

Well-known member

mix by famous poet and raconteur Jim and his little brother, sausage fingers.

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Peter Gordon
Coil
Caustic Window
Bukowski spoken word
Joe Higgs
T Rex
Bongwater
Hawkwind - the wizard blew his horn
Ultramarine
Nurse with Wound
The Holy ghost
Equip
Cornwallis - Forever Forrero
Wish Key - last summer
Denim
Cleaners from Venus
Vibena
Kenneth Williams
Buthole Surfers
 

luka

Well-known member
that mix is obviously far too hip for me i wont be listening to it but its perfect for you catalog. right up your passage.
 

catalog

Well-known member
perfect for an indie kid like me, whereas you are too much of a spiritual narcissist for something like that
 

catalog

Well-known member
one of my favourite mixes of all time.... i've uploaded it cos can't find it online

Board favourite Bobby Gillepsie :ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO::ROFLMAO: and i've left in fools gold from mani (it's the 2nd hour of a 2 hour primal scream mix, 1st hour is mani)


STONE ROSES - FOOLS GOLD
GUN CLUB - SEX BEAT
JOHNNY BURNETTE TRIO -TRAIN KEPT A ROLLIN
FRED MCDONELL & JOHNNY WOODS - SHAKE 'EM ON DOWN FAT
JAMES LUTHER DICKINSON - WINE
PANTHER BURNS - SHE'S THE ONE THAT'S GOT IT
CHARLIE FEATHERS - JUNGLE FEVER
LINK WRAY - JACK THE RIPPER
TIM BUCKLEY - PHANTASMAGORIA IN TWO
TOWNES VAN ZANDT - WAITIN AROUND TO DIE
GENE VINCENT - YOU ARE THE ONE FOR ME
MOT THE HOOPLE - TRUDI'S SONG
ROLLING STONES - BEAST OF BURDEN
GRAM PARSONS - DARK END OF THE STREET
JERRY LEE LEWIS - WHAT MADE MILWAKEE FAMOUS (HAS MADE A LOSER OF ME)
GEORGE CLINTON & THE PARLIAMENTS - I WANNA TESTIFY
JACOBITRES - BIG STORE
JESUS & MARY CHAIN - THE HARDEST WALK
THE SAINTS - KNOW YOUR PRODUCT
DEXY'S - TELL ME WHEN MY LIGHT TURNS GREEN
JERRY LEE LEWIS - SOMEWHERE OVER THE RAINBOW
 

pattycakes_

Can turn naughty

this guy. he's tapping into the riffraff sphere but ghetto tech and miami bass
 

trilliam

Well-known member

Comment section is a mess. I'm not up on the genres you mentioned like that but newer DJs like swisha, kush Jones and OGs like godfather, slugo and stingray probs play alongside the same lines without turning it into some weird minstrel show/appropriation fest.

@thirdform
 

thirdform

pass the sick bucket

Comment section is a mess. I'm not up on the genres you mentioned like that but newer DJs like swisha, kush Jones and OGs like godfather, slugo and stingray probs play alongside the same lines without turning it into some weird minstrel show/appropriation fest.

@thirdform

Yeah godfather and Stingray are the ones. and DJ Assault, ruthless behind the decks.
 
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