A Freak-Out(ting): Julian Cope's CORNUCOPEA festival (Spring 2000)

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Souvenir CD Programme given away to Cornucopea Festival goers, still available for purchase from Head Heritage.


Cosmic Cuckoos: Julian Cope and pagans against the machine
By Jay Babcock

First published Thursday, May 18 2000 in the LAWeekly

Because we have our own aural tradition and need for congregation with like minds . . . because we can’t, not all of us, get our knickers in a twist about the muffler-rock of Testosterostock 2000 (Metallica, Korn and Kid Rock at the Coliseum, July 15, mark your calendars!) . . . because the airwaves are clean and there‘s nobody singing to me . . . Because of all that, I find myself here in London, jet-lagged and double-lagered, listening to Julian Cope.

Yes, that Julian Cope. Ex-leader of the Teardrop Explodes, the early-’80s Liverpudlian post-punk group with a sizable cult following. Solo artist with a minor pre-alternative hit (the anthemic “World Shut Your Mouth”). A petulant, paranoid near-rock star freakoid who in true “VH1 Behind the Music” fashion succeeded in alienating his band, his fans, his record label and, finally, himself before a series of revelations in 1989 shifted him in a newly “aware” direction.

Cope went hypernova and deep-historical—from town frier to town crier, from “Saint Julian” to “The Arch-Drood,” from Syd Barrett-esque acid-gobbler to full-throttle goddess-worshippin‘ Mystic Brother No. 1, becoming a self-conscious subscriber to Dadaist artist Hugo Ball’s dictum that “Artists are Gnostics, and practice what the priests think is long forgotten.” Now confident in his role as “Shamanic Rock & Rolling Inner-Space Cadet,” Cope released an extraordinary series of artistically ambitious albums on Island (and, later, American) that, in the music-industry scheme of things, were underperforming commercial failures, and he ended up without a major-label recording contract.

Today, Cope spends his days out on Ur-Pagan Patrol near Silbury Hill, raising a family, self-releasing a number of limited-edition mail-order records, overseeing a fantastic Web site (headheritage.co.uk) and, in the last six years, laboring over a clutch of obsessive, entertaining books, including two hilarious autobiographies (Head-on in ‘94 and Repossessed in ’99, now out in one convenient $19.95 paperback volume), a crash course in Krautrock (‘95’s essential Krautrocksampler), and ‘98’s The Modern Antiquarian: A Pre-Millennial Odyssey Through Megalithic Britain, a scholarly study of Britain‘s pre-Christian megalithic sacred sites, now in its third printing.

Clad in leopard-skin tights and knee-high platform jackboots, Cope ventures into the city rarely and reluctantly to report, bardexplorerlike, his findings to The People. And so “Cornucopea”: two early-spring weekend nights at London’s South Bank Centre of Cope-curated space-rock ambient-glitter bubble-metal protest-blues, starring a host of artists and, of course, Mr. Cope himself. A sounding of the horn of plenty. A celebration of mystery, whimsy, eccentricity—of Supreme Oddness. A festival for the cuckoos. Continue reading

May 14-16, New Hampshire: THE THING IN THE SPRING

thingannouncementweb

thing2010web

The Thing in the Spring 2010
Downtown Peterborough NH
May 14, 15, 16

fri may 14 – Toadstool Bookshop
6pm – Ian Durling – Solo Sax from the Roof
6:30pm Show – $12 door – All Ages
Birdsongs of the Mesozoic
Corsano – Flaherty – Nace
Tongue Oven

sat may 15 – Toadstool Bookshop
5pm – Randy Patrick – Solo Electric Guitar from the Roof
5:30 Show – $12 door – All Ages
Happy Birthday
Meg Baird
Trials & Tribulations

sat may 15 – Harlow’s Pub (this show is 21+) –
10:30pm – $5
Graph
Bunny’s A Swine

sun may 16 – Toadstool Bookshop
4pm – Bjorn DelaCruz – Solo Violin from the Roof
4:30pm Show – $12 door – All Ages
Death Vessel
Micah Blue Smaldone
Wooden Dinosaur

Weekend pass available for $25 before May 1, $30 after. With that, you get 15% off coupons for Harlow’s pub, and 15% off at the Toadstool Bookshop.

Purchase tickets via PayPal to:
gagnemeister@gmail.com

Or via snailmail to:
toadstool bookshop
attn: eric
12 depot sq
peterborough, nh 03458

more info:
music@ptoad.com
or
theglassmuseumpress.blogspot.com

DEFENDER NINE: "Art is either plagiarism or revolution." —Paul Gauguin

IF YOU MISSED THE LAST EIGHT OF THESE HERE’S THE QUICK PITCH:

Even though the only thing Che ever put on his shirt was blood, sweat and little bits of traitor brains,

Andre the Giant doesn’t have a posse,

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and by the time anybody got around to defending Brooklyn it was just another Alamo,

the revolutionary bent of the modern T-shirt fad suggested that, despite years of anger management classes, behavior medication and lack of decent education Americans can still get mad enough to shell out twenty something dollars to be rebellious. Which means a lot, considering votes are free.

Young people sporting the shadow of the AK 47, cameos of violent revolutionaries and whatever Shepherd Fairey decided to steal that week did so in order to appear dangerous, which is often all that is needed to keep predators in check.

In short, the T-shirt kings of the last century had misunderestimated azimuth in the vacuum of pop, overshot fashion and ended up in politics.

It was with these fads that I rediscovered hope in the generation with the X hung on it. I wasn’t the only one. Spike Lee contacted me and asked if he could use the T-shirt in a movie called “Inside Man.” We met and I gave him permission, hoping that it would be a “Defend Brooklyn” commercial when it came out.

Continue reading

ACTS OF GOD

fron : http://spectregroup.wordpress.com/2010/04/22/acts-of-god/

No Fly Zone
http://nytimes.com/interactive/2010/04/15/world/europe/airport-closings-graphic.html
http://washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2010/04/21/AR2010042102100.html
“The year of the earthquake has suddenly become the year of the volcano. It raises the question of what governments can do to prepare for — and adapt to — wild-card geological events that not only affect airliners but can also alter the planet’s climate for years at a stretch. Now airports are beginning to open again in Britain and the Netherlands, but no one can be entirely sure what will happen next in Iceland. Eyjafjallajokull could incite an eruption of its larger neighbor, Katla, which hasn’t erupted since 1918 and might be ready to rumble. In all three historically recorded eruptions of Eyjafjallajokull — in 920, 1612 and 1821 — Katla erupted soon thereafter.”

Opening Act?
http://independent.co.uk/news/world/europe/second-more-powerful-icelandic-volcano-likely-to-explode-soon-1949600.html
“Each time Eyjafjallajokull has erupted in the past 2,000 years, Katla has exploded within six months. Professor McGuire pointed out that Katla was 10 times bigger than Eyjafjallajokull. It also has a much bigger ice cap, and it is the mixture of melting cold water and lava that causes explosions and for ash to shoot to high altitudes. Iceland’s President, Olafur Grimsson, indicated that Europe, and the world, would have to wake up to the risk posed by Katla. “Because the history of these volcanoes in my country shows that they will erupt regularly, and the time for Katla to erupt is coming close. I don’t say if, but when Katla will erupt, because it usually erupts every century and the last [major] one was in 1918.” The President said Iceland had been “waiting for that eruption” for some years, and had made preparations for rescue and emergency services. So I think it is high time for European governments and airline authorities to start planning for it.”


photograph by Marco Fulle

Volcanic Explosivity Index
http://volcanoes.usgs.gov/activity/index.php
http://guardian.co.uk/world/2010/apr/21/iceland-volcano-ash-extinction-human-race
“The map is almost uncannily similar to today’s: a spray of black dots showing the recorded sightings of a foul grey haze spreading across Europe – and all of it caused by clouds of ash from an immense volcano erupting far across the sea in Iceland. But this was a map made from data collected in 1783. The volcano was called Laki, it erupted for eight dismal months without cease, ruined crops, lowered temperatures and drastically altered the weather. It killed 9,000 people, drenched the European forests in acid rain, caused skin lesions in children and the deaths of millions of cattle. And, by one account, it was a contributing factor (because of the hunger-inducing famines) to the outbreak six years later of the French revolution.

It is worth remembering that ours is a world essentially made from and by volcanoes. There is perhaps no better recent example of the havoc that a big eruption can cause than that which followed the explosive destruction of Mt Toba, in northern Sumatra, some 72,000 years ago (which, in geological time, is very recent). The relics of this mountain today are no more than a very large and beautiful lake, 60 miles long and half a mile deep – the caldera that was left behind by what is by most reckonings the largest volcanic explosion known to have occurred on the planet in the last 25 million years. On the widely used volcanic explosivity index (VEI), Toba is thought to have been an eight (Eyjafjallajökull is by contrast listed as having a probable VEI rating of just two). About 680 cubic miles of rock were instantly vaporised, all of which was hurled scores of thousands of feet into the air. This this is what did the lasting damage, just as Iceland’s high-altitude rock-dust is doing today. But while we today are merely suffering a large number of inconvenienced people and a weakening of the balance sheets of some airlines, the effect on the post-Toban world was catastrophic: as a result of the thick ash clouds the world’s ambient temperature plummeted, perhaps by as much as 5C – and the cooling and the howling wave of deforestation and deaths of billions of animals and plants caused a sudden culling of the human population of the time, reducing it to maybe as few as 5,000 people, perhaps 1,000 breeding pairs.

Others of the 47 known VEI-8 volcanoes are more alarmingly recent. The newer of the great eruptions that helped form the mountains of today’s Yellowstone national park in Wyoming took place just 640,000 years ago, and all the current signs – such phenomena as the rhythmic slow rising and falling of the bed of the Yellowstone river, as if some giant creature is breathing far below – suggest another eruption is coming soon. When it does, it will be an American Armageddon: all of the north and west of the continent, from Vancouver to Oklahoma City, will be rendered uninhabitable, buried under scores of feet of ash. (I mentioned this once in a talk to a group of lunching ladies in Kansas City, soothing their apparent disquiet by adding that by “soon” I was speaking in geologic time, and that meant about 250,000 years, by which time all humankind would be extinct. A woman in the front row exploded with incredulous rage: “What? Even Americans will be extinct?”) Krakatoa’s immediate aftermath was dominated initially by dramatic physical effects – a series of tsunamis, a bang of detonation that was clearly heard (like naval gunfire, said the local police officer) 3,000 miles away, and a year’s worth of awe-inspiring evening beauty – astonishing sunsets of purple and passionfruit and salmon that had artists all around the world trying desperately to capture what they managed to see in the fleeting moments before dark…”

A Poem by Diane Suess

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i lie back on my red coverlet and contemplate
by Diane Suess

the paintings of seascapes we won’t be seeing in the Louvre.
the miniatures of the infamous Van Blarenberghe brothers.
no rented wooden boats in the Jardin de Tuileries

though this is not about a particular lover or a particular city.
even i am less a woman than a ball of mercury breaking
into forty pieces of silver.

there was talk of Prague, the Klub Cleopatra, that bar called
the Marquis de Sade. as if poetry lies there on a gold settee
smoking a black cigarette in a red holder.

green dress. that Van Gogh green, the color of his pool tables.
the ceiling too is green, and the absinthe we won’t be sipping.
the unmade love in unmade beds. small, oversensitive breasts.

Americans always think it’s elsewhere. believe
in transmutative sex. i did, when a girl, scrutinizing
my queendom, a colony of fire ants, their thoraxes

gleaming like scoured copper.