Several anarchist armoured car models - the first fruits of the Black Sheep Art & Craft Division - await despatch. Based on a 1959 Dinky Toy, these AEC Dorchester models were boxed by Common Era and painted by the Archdrude himself.
In light of Belgium’s heroic decision to ban the burka, I’d just like to return to that plea that I made several Drudions ago for a much more rigorous Multiculturalism to be adopted here in the West. Like the swastika and the Gary Glitter t-shirt, the highly contentious burka is just too fetishistic and downright creepy for Joe Public, and would – in my own Vision of the Rigorous Multiculturalism – be proscribed, i.e.: banned from view if only because it is to we Westerners nothing less than a symbol of Enslavement. I don’t mean we British should proscribe the burka through legislation, as the Belgians have felt forced to do. No, proscription in the UK should be a natural thing because it ‘feels’ morally wrong. Moreover, practitioners should be informed of how uncomfortable it makes the rest of us feel. Nobody blasts Gary Glitter records anymore and nobody wears a swastika because it renders wearers instant social pariahs. That’s how it should work with the burka: “Let people do what they want, it’s a free country” is often the Culture Coward’s Code for Can’t Be Arsed, and so-called Liberal Western women who argue on Islam’s behalf that the practise of be-burka-ing hinders men from viewing them merely as sexual objects should remember how recently Female Suffrage was achieved even here in the West. We have to keep pushing pushing forwards – it’s too late to go backwards now. As I sung on 2008CE’s ‘Preaching Revolution’: “My grandma, she was 28 when women got the vote.” Besides, Islam’s plea for people to dress with ‘modesty’ may be in direct contradiction to the practises of the West, but Muslims still deserve the opportunity to express their wishes through Dialogue, even if said wishes are subsequently rejected as too restrictive for the Western Mindset. Dialogue, brothers’n’sisters. In the new Rigorous Multiculturalism, deploying such Westerner concepts as Freedom and Freedom of Speech must involve addressing problems we Westerners do not wish to address. Furthermore, writing as an atheist and as an Odinist, I suspect Islam’s fiery presence here may well be the making of us, here to wake our sorry asses up at last. Unfortunately, Western liberals as so fucking cosy in their white supremacy they don’t even notice when their freedom is being threatened. And those are not my words, but the words of a female Muslim friend of mine. Ho-hum.
SYD BARRETT: A VERY IRREGULAR HEAD by Rob Chapman
‘Madam, you see before you stand, Heigh ho! Never be still! The Old Original Favourite Grand Grasshopper’s Green Herbarian Band, And the tune we play is Rilloby-rilloby…’
Eventually, Chapman traces a large proportion of Syd’s lyrics to, get this, THE LAUREL & GOLD ANTHOLOGY, first published in 1936. Shit, there goes the charabanc! I’ll not let you down with any more mythbusters: read the book – it’s compelling. Better still, after you’ve finished this book, you’re gonna hate the rest of Pink Floyd even MORE than you already do. Many conspiracy theorists had long suspected (and since before Punk, you young’uns) that R. Waters, N. Mason and R. Wright had railroaded Syd out of his own band because he was no longer capable of ‘playing the game’. Author Rob Chapman, however, presents us with four cynics with such a taste for pop success (and such a fear of impending architect futures should they lose their success) that they arbitrarily changed the rules of the group without informing their leader. So Syd’s one-note-freakouts and refusal to play ‘See Emily Play’ at provincial gigs – an anti-commercial attitude regarded so positively throughout 1967 – are turned against him as evidence of madness when he performs similarly on their US tour. The spineless Richard Wright even admits to sneaking out of the flat he shared with Syd in order to play Pink Floyd gigs. With the abortion that is ‘Wish You Were Here’, these energy vampires demanded that we should feel sorry not for Syd but for THEIR loss of Syd, after it was their goalpost-changing and hiding from him that precipitated his slide into oblivion. Read this book and you’ll agree that Syd’s increasingly plaintive yearning for lost love in the BARRETT and THE MADCAP LAUGHS collections were directed not at some ex-girlfriend but at his former musical partners. “I’m trying to find you”, sang Syd on the MADCAP-outtake ‘Opel’. But his cohorts were actively hiding from him, even his organist flatmate: each so suffocatingly English and proper, so ingrown and unconfrontational that their betrayal became Syd’s only Muse. Read the book, just read the book. Rob Chapman, Sir Rob Chapman, you’re a heartbreaker, sir, but what a heroic piece of Cultural Retrieval. Kiddies, file this sucker next to Paul Drummond’s equally heroic 13th Floor Elevators biog EYE MIND and get trawling eBay for a copy of THE LAUREL & GOLD ANTHOLOGY … The torture never stops!
Chi'en by QA'A
PAKT by Detritivore
FAGS by Drumcunt
VESSEL OF THE EARTH by Anji Cheung and Sequences
MANIFESTO ZERO by Gunslingers
THE SHEPHERDESS & THE BONE-WHITE BIRD by Stone Breath
Right, before I conclude this month’s prattle, I’ll forewarn you of my intention to release a Julian Cope/Black Sheep record of sorts in the near future. Untitled as yet but already bulging with such reet-catchy cantankerous gems as ‘Cromwell in Ireland’, ‘As the Beer Flows Over Me’, ‘Because He Was Wooden’ and ‘Kill Yourself in the Head’, I figured it was a useful offering to bring forth in anticipation of our held-up Scottish tour. Yes, that’s still happening and we’re attempting to play up in the Orkneys. However, the weather has been so bad that my promoter and dear friend Rob Ellen has suggested to hang fire until June. In the meantime, the promised David Wrench album SPADES & HOES & PLOWS – despite being mucho held up – is on its way as we speak. And, believe me, it will be worth the wait, all you crypt kickers!
Right, I’m off back to the Underworld.
Let the Sunshine in, Motherfuckers!
JULIAN (Lord Y)