readings, drivel and turbulence

photographic source: taxi pickup service, washington DC, 1942, by thomas. d. mcavoy. Life.

coming soon | ib dribbles before he shoots

you read it here first, now thrill to the glottal stop.


Ever wondered what a slacker Scot with a poetic bent itching like an ingrown toenail sounds like ? Peter Mullen on Prozac ? Taggart on Tamazepan ? 

Well. Torture yourself no more.

Since the seed of polite interest was first sewn on these very pages, the idea has been percolating down through the top soil to where exhibitionism lies buried. The drawers are full to bursting. The undershorts are sullied.

The performing monkey might be rusty, but the organ still grinds.

The motivation is thus. If the distance between here and an open mic event is unconscionable, I might as well dig out a loose leaf of poetry or two and record it at my leisure. Break out a bottle and inflict some lines on unspoiled flesh. I know. Remote villages and slave factories around the globe idle in anticipation of that first instalment. The moneylenders shut up shop.

Exhausted spinsters fend off those last advances and demand a little hush.

Well. If it is not your bag, my advice is go f@ck yourself. A free gig is a free gig. And who knows ? While it might not float your boat, this punch-drunk fool may still raise a wry smile between now and the bigger curtain whispering down.

Of course. I am as woefully unprepared as always. I have not even begun to engage with the logistics of orchestrating such a monumental event. The inbuilt microphone on the PPC remains untested.

Stay tuned. Or detuned. Whatever gets you off.

that was the week that was

Perhaps the best strategy might be to strap each of the 'three' candidates into a steel chair. Interrogate them as to policy.

See then just how much a politician dares to deviate from the script. And who might squeal if leaned on a little.

The public has already witnessed a rudimentary 'block-in', sans canned laughter and applause. Roped together on a cardboard podium, it might yet develop into a genuine three legged race.

Frankly, even at this early juncture it's already looking a little over rehearsed.

The same questions persist. Who is really to blame for the bungled Northern Rock heist ? Was RSB's involvement in the Goldman Sachs fiasco entirely a result of gross incompetence ?

It has always smelled like an inside job.

When pressed, Mr. Brown promised to dig a little deeper. Try hammering broken matchsticks under the fingernails.

Mr. Blue had little to say. He didn't seem to have learned his lines at all, but then again. Mr. Yellow had already stolen the show, such as it was; the only one out the three invited to put on a show who appeared even remotely lean. Hungry. 

Not a bravura performance exactly, but nonetheless the only Equity Card holder there not calcified with stage fright.

Confined to the wings, Mr. Salmon - in homage to Mr. Pink - relied on some tired slapstick to generate at least one column inch in the morning's review.

He can do that routine in his sleep. He has had plenty of practice at Holyrood.

Still. Unlike in the US, we prefer to run through our campaigning at a breakneck pace. Fill in the blanks - the policies, that is - with impoverished improvisation. It adds to the drama. With less than a month to opening night there is time enough to jot down a few choice words on the back of a cigarette packet.

Save the ad libs for Oscar Night. The BAFTAs, at least.

As Mr. Brown keeps reminding us, it's sleight of hand over substance. There is no flair in British politics. Precious little honesty or stomach for unpalatable truths.

Cue the party music.

roky erickson: true love casts out all evil

"I have Always Been Here Before".
George Cruikshank illustrates Dickens, Bradbury & Evans, 1846.



Appositely, given the very recent featuring of The Spades' "You're Gonna Miss Me", and mention of 13th Floor Elevators in relation to the Austin influence on Arthur Lee + Love up here on SibLINGSHOT ON THE BLEACHERS, news has broken that Roky Erickson is slated to release his first album in fourteen years.

This coming April 20th; "True Love Casts Out All Evil".

Interpersed with archival recordings dating from his confinement to the Rusk State Hospital for the Criminally Insane between 1969 and 1972, the album introduces previously unheard songs documenting the trauma of enforced medication and incarceration. In a state then governed by the desire to reduce tansgressors to a scarcely believable subhuman level.

Arrested age twenty-one for possession of a single marijuana joint and facing a mandatory ten-year prison sentence, Erickson was advised to plead not guilty by reason of insanity.

His case was ably supported by a previous - wholly unreliable, in light of his repeated exposure to varying substances - diagnosis of schizophrenia approximately one year earlier, when the teenage Erickson was temporarily sectioned under the care of a psychiatric hospital in Houston, and forced to undergo a regime of electroconvulsive therapy.

What ensued from there is a cautionary tale familiar to anyone with even a passing interest in the underground psychedelic scene spearheaded by International Artists; the Houston based label responsible for distributing both The 13th Floor Elevators and Mayo Thompson's Red Crayola.

The abuses Roky Erickson underwent as a result are well chronicled.

Out of the frying pan and into a crooked concentration camp cauldron merry prankster, Ken Kesey's "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" only scratched at.

Where "True Love Casts Out All Evil" differs significantly from previous solo releases is the sheer transparency which Erickson brings to bear in revisiting that bleak period. A prolonged separation which led not just inevitably to the demise of the Elevators, but the collapse of his relationship with first wife, Dana and his young son. Gone are the lurid pulp metaphors which shrouded material recorded with the Aliens and kept his "Two Headed Dog" on a leash.

Procucer, Will Sheff and his Okkervil River admirably aid and abett an entirely lucid Erickson as he navigates territory lesser mortals might fear to tread:

"This is not a cynical comeback record, a lukewarm update on an established legacy – these are the best songs Roky has ever written, unreleased due to decades plagued by the kind of personal tragedies that would destroy someone less resilient. This record has been the most challenging and rewarding, thing I've ever worked on, and we in Okkervil River were deeply honored to show up decades later and help Roky carry these wonderful songs over the finish line."

"True Love Casts Out All Evil" sees its official CD release on Anti-Record before the month is out. Stripped of the Spector pretense and Halloween shtick which plagued good Roky's revival for thirty years, all hyperbole has been exorcised.

For unprecedented access to a redefining document, Roky Erickson premieres "True Love Casts Out All Evil" exclusively at Relix.

Bury "Two Headed Dog". "Think Of As One".

A genuinely courageous undertaking, staves and bars speak louder than words.

▼ THE 13th FLOOR ELEVATORS: DON'T FALL DOWN from "The Psychedelic Sound Of The 13th Floor Elevators" LP (International Artists) 1966 (US)