Mothers, Brothers, Lovers All,
Post-tour Greetings at the Winter Festival’s call! I was asked the other day by some parents if we celebrated Christmas. You betcha! You think we're gonna give up on that ancient Winter Festival just because church cynics chose to empower their new God by having him born (so conveniently) right around the Solstice? No way! It’s that Between-time again, when they overlay the Winter Solstice Festivities with mysterious X-Mass Nativities, and the old red man drives his four horned bucks through the darkened sky, bringing his sack of treasures from the frozen north. On every street corner, middle-aged men don his hooded red outfit and parents take their children to make their pleas to the benevolent bearded one. Christians complain that the festival starts too soon in the high street, but every extension of the X-Mass period warms my hibernating heart. For the early sunsets of wintertime exhaust me, and the early risings of the wintertime school-run exhaust me, and any light shone down upon this nethertime nourishes my grumpy bear-in-his-cave attitude. So hang up the Druid mistletoe and kiss your hang-ups goodbye, and deck the walls with boughs of holly (disapproval would be folly). Even Christians bring Mother Nature into their homes with a baubled sparkling Ver tree. Here comes the magic of the Inbetween-time – Agents of change, we ain't never gonna see 2000 again.
By the way, droodies, the British tour was a stone Gasser. Thanks to all who came and especially to those who travelled great distances. The weather held off and the heavy hauliers never got their momentum up that second time. At the London show, the backstage was so awash with family and kin that the show seemed to begin three hours before I went on stage. Forward-thinking Motherfuckers surrounded me! I got to hug Merrick and thank him for his Arthurian full-on-ness. I got to thank the Seth Man for his marvellous contributions to Unsung. Webmaster Holy McGrail and Psychedelic Paul hung with my darling wife and kids, whilst Thighpaulsandra and Doggen daubed clamorous glamorous thang all over “s.t.a.r.c.a.r.” for the encore. Thank you Rizla Deutsche for keeping the whole thing together, and, most of all, WELCOME BACK, DONNEYE! Me‘n’Mr. Skinner grooved like we’d never been apart, and playing “Leperskin” every night improved my guitar thrash no end. Rock‘n’roll with me! Love on y’all.
Before I go, a quick mention of the U.S.A., where the foundations of democracy have lately taken a big tumble. Four weeks after the election, there is still no president in the White House, and crowds have taken to the streets screaming for Gore or howling for Bush. Me? I’d be happy to see it destabilise America, even if it’s just to give the rest of us some breathing space from Ronald McDonald culture. The more they teeter, the more they’re thrown off course, the more inward-looking they become, the less they can fuck up the rest of the world. Can’t locate a man to lead? One’s forlorn and one’s for Greed. U.S.A. formerly read United States of America? Nah! Not anymore. Now it stands for Unidentified Sly‘n’Abject!
So kiss 2000 goodbye. And kiss your kids from me. And thank y’all for helping to make this such a sustainable Rock‘n’roll trip!
May love reign on ya,
Mr DRUDE (M’Lud of Yatesbury)