Julian Cope presents Head Heritage

New Year Drudion 2004 CE

January 2004ce

Happy New Year, Motherfuckers!

Hey, I’m listening to ‘Is America Dead?’ by Kim Fowley and wunnering how such a percipient opportunist never made it to the Senate at least. His bit about teenage girls taking over the Oval Office is just right on the button, though you gots to admit even nine squabbling and menstruating Busted fans couldn’t make a worse job of it that the current crop of cro-magnons. And what a sad sad time for the West to pick a cover version of the Ult in self-pity ‘It’s a Mad Mad Mad World’ for its X-Mass number one. What are the bomb-ridden Iraqis and the dust-choaking Iranians meant to make of a culture that rushes out in droves to spend their money on remedial nappy rash like ‘I think it’s kinda sad that the dreams in which I’m dying are the best I ever had’? Die in a fire then, abject ghoulish non-motherfuckers, and save us wasting the body bags!

Glad to see the Black Darkness din’t make it to number one with their awful piss-poor play on words (Bell-end ain’t nothing like bell’s end, who’s ya tryna hoodwink?) Maybe it’s just sourgrapes my end after their similarly titled song stopped Brain Donor from releasing our amazing proposed 45 ‘Keep Your Eyes On My Motherfucker’. Talking of the mighty fallen, it pleased my poetic soul to see Ozzy get whapped on a quad bike just one month after Seth Man’s mighty Quad Room assault. Serves Oswald right for that excruciating version of the already excruciating ‘Changes’ (always the scourge of VOLUME 4, babbies). Also, the convenient ‘admission’ by former fatty wife Shaz that she shagged beautiful guitarist Randy Rhodes is too too much to comment on, especially as he’s too dead to deny it and she even insisted there was ‘no oral’. Ouch. HH’s sole concession to populist culture shall therefore be a comemmorative teatowel of the two going at it (bearing the legend ‘NO ORAL’, natch!).

Newspaper reports say comedians who continue to make anti-Christian and anti-Jewish jokes are holding back on their Muslim jokes for fear of appearing racist. Personally, I think this may just be a fear of dying a horrible backstreet death at the hands of some scary mullah and his henchmen. The reports claimed that the long traditions of self-mockery in Judaism and Christianity are entirely absent from Islam. So I suppose it is time for me to institute such a tradition, fearless of its being mistaken for racism because of my widely-publicised addiction to Afro-American music and long term anti-Monotheist stance. I’m also fuelled in the knowledge that educated Muslim women forced to adopt the burkha were also forced to take long term medication for the depression it brought them. Still, I anticipate that neither side is gonna buy my brilliant new song ‘You Can Call Me Al’, despite its classic call-and-respond Sly Stone-type groove that circles around this one chorus:

‘I’m bad (I’m Jalalabad) I’m bad (I’m Islamabad) What’s my name (You can call me Al) New York I’m comin’ to getcha!’

As they are both learning German, my daughters Albany and Avalon are fascinated by the idea of Old High German; the stylised poetic German adopted in scholarly writing. I explained that the Germans even have a particularly low form called Flat German, which they put on ‘don’t do this, don’t do that’ type of signposts. Flat German gives it all a friendliness and transliterates into something like ‘Keep the hound tied up or you’ll freak me sheep, ta very much’. Albany asked if we have any equivalents of High German and Flat German. I said no, but realised that my writing styles straddle similar attitudes. For example, I’d never write THE MEGALITHIC EUROPEAN text with those portmanteaus such as ‘gonna’, ‘wanna’, gimme’, etc., that permeate my rock’n’roll. Conversely, neither would I describe a chambered cairn as ‘ideal for forward-thinking motherfuckers’. As me old mum used to say: ‘to be appropriately dressed is to be well dressed’. Which is probbly why more than a few biddies complained to the British Museum when I wore heels, camo and face-paint for both days of DISCOVER ODIN. Oops…

Okay, I’ll sod off now. But first I should note that forthcoming this year should be the French version of KRAUTROCKSAMPLER (in February so I’m told), along with a whole bunch of new Fuck Off & Di releases. Head Heritage will probably release Queen Elizabeth’s DUE TO LACK OF INTEREST TOMORROW HAS BEEN CANCELLED and I know that the Sons of TC-Lethbridge are planning a tour and a Doggen solo LP entitled DOGNTANK. With over 150 pages of THE MEGALITHIC EUROPEAN now designed (publishing date October 4th), I suppose it’s not too soon to say I hope this year will finally allow me to get the main text of LET ME SPEAK TO THE DRIVER up and running. Also, my projected article on Ed Wilcox and his marvellous Temple of Bon Matin should finally be forthcoming, as well as the job of making Randy Holden’s POPULATION 2 into a proper Album of the Month (at last).

Finally finally finally, I dedicate this Address Drudion to Dorian, Albany, Avalon, Holy McGrail, JoAnne Wilder, Wendy H., Seth Man; and also to everyone else who supports this trip in any way, shape or form. Also to Rizla Deutsche, my esteemed friend and erstwhile cohort in L.A.M.F., who has been down so very damn long, I send love and good luck.

Thanks babbies,

JULIAN (M’Lud Yatesbury)