“Take a little trip with me”

Over in the louche corners of the web (the “louche-web” — remember, you heard it here first) people are asking themselves: I dunno, man, but is 2020 maybe, like, one REALLY bad trip?

"Well, we know where we're goin', but we don't know where we been..."

Erik Davis. Jules Evans. Douglas Rushkoff and Grant Morrison.

For a certain temperament that is exactly the right way to frame it, I think. Not that I’ve been much prone to partaking of so-called mind-altering substances, but I’ve experienced a few moments. 

The most recent was a few years ago, in my friend’s Yorkville apartment. I’d asked him to explain something about Heidegger for me, and was gazing down at the streets where hippies once had themselves QUITE the time. As my friend took care with his words, the sense he made of Heidegger for me was in credible. And the vertigo I experienced . . . 

. . . there is that moment after you have strapped yourself into a thrill-ride when the entire machine slowly cranks and torques into a position where you begin to wonder if you will rocket into the earth or if it will fall down on top of you instead.

Only the vertigo never left. My POV had been altered permanently. I thought I had been looking at roots, but it turned out I was staring at leaves and there was this immense sky behind them. My sense of balance would eventually return, but it took some time.

So, yeah, 2020 — a person who wants to emerge from all its dark wisdom will need a source of gentle, human touch. And freshly-squeezed orange juice.

*****

There is something about spoken-word performances woven into a musical tapestry that holds an unfailing appeal for me. Pink Floyd excelled at this, for a couple of records at least. The Shamen made Terrence McKenna’s prolonged bafflegab enticing. And Steven Wilson turned Voyage 34 into an experience the listener, unlike poor Brian, could recover from.

“Whatever Happened To Gus” — my favourite MMW track.

I was prepped for this scene by a childhood spent listening to film soundtracks. The trend in the 70s was to release some of the music with a smattering, or even all, of the film’s dialogue. Star Wars, Indiana Jones, even Apocalypse Now — among other spoken-word-set-to-music finery, including Strange Brew.

Then Quentin Tarantino came along and took it to another level.

I recently picked up Vangelis’ Blade Runner Trilogy, and I’d say he’s taken it to his own level. The first two discs are from the movie, but the third is “inspired by” it — and it, too, has bits of found-speech peppered into the mix. This move provoked some eye-rolling among critics, but I kind of dig it. For whatever reason, spoken word performances set to music suggest an ethereal realm of thought and possibility where sung music constrains with its necessary formality (exceptions allowed for, of course).

It’s trippy — you dig?

Post title pinched from War.