Tuesday, June 21, 2011

A Latter Day "Dark Star"

Dear Friends,

Here's a jazzy, midified latter day "Dark Star". It's from RFK in July of 1990. The boyz play a rather gentle game of catch me if you can, at first… then things get a little rough. Things get weird. Time and space bend as the Hyperthruster kicks in. Corners turn round, the circles are squared and broken and the door flies open on a strange wind. The very atmosphere shatters in sonic icicles. Then the air melts. Who let that dragon into the room!?! Where'd that big rabbit come from?

Suddenly, there's the ghost of Coltrane playing through the fingers of an old professor on a bass guitar whose neck is made of rubber. The troublesome kid on the rhythm guitar seems to be trying to just screw everybody else up, but the drummers will not be deterred; they are busy building a castle in the void. That guy with the keyboard is apparently intent on mutiny as the Fat Man supposedly in charge, The Captain, has his shaded eyes spinning like two compasses lost in a galactic magnetic storm. He strains to guide the ship and its bewildered and bewildering crew toward an unseen horizon that can never be reached. The crew and their charge are upon an ocean of Nothing frothing with Reality a'borning.

Then, without resolution, the recording ends. What has become of our crew and their passengers?

Res Ipsa Loquitur,

S

A Latter Day "Dark Star"

Dear Friends,

Here's a jazzy, midified latter day "Dark Star". It's from RFK in July of 1990. The boyz play a rather gentle game of catch me if you can, at first… then things get a little rough. Things get weird. Time and space bend as the Hyperthruster kicks in. Corners turn round, the circles are squared and broken and the door flies open on a strange wind. The very atmosphere shatters in sonic icicles. Then the air melts. Who let that dragon into the room!?! Where'd that big rabbit come from?

Suddenly, there's the ghost of Coltrane playing through the fingers of an old professor on a bass guitar whose neck is made of rubber. The troublesome kid on the rhythm guitar seems to be trying to just screw everybody else up, but the drummers will not be deterred; they are busy building a castle in the void. That guy with the keyboard is apparently intent on mutiny as the Fat Man supposedly in charge, The Captain, has his shaded eyes spinning like two compasses lost in a galactic magnetic storm. He strains to guide the ship and its bewildered and bewildering crew toward an unseen horizon that can never be reached. The crew and their charge are upon an ocean of Nothing frothing with Reality a'borning.

Then, without resolution, the recording ends. What has become of our crew and their passengers?

Res Ipsa Lloquitur,

S